Joker's Folly
by Tower of Babel
Summary: When a seemingly legit nightclub in Bludhaven is a target for The Joker, Dick and Jason are asked to be Bouncers for a night. Wildly popular, things get even wilder when Dick is exposed to a new Joker gas, stripteases, and then attacks Red Robin on the dance floor, while Joker/Jason get reacquainted via torture, learning an even deeper truth.
1. A Favour

_**CHAPTER ONE:**_  
 _ **"A FAVOUR"**_

Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne Manor butler, was lost in his housekeeping duties. He was a man who could multi-task many times over and still have capacity for even more. Daily, he would dust the Wayne Manor, every room, every article of furniture, picture, and still have time to help Bruce with whatever he asked for in the Bat Cave. And because he kept up on his duties, there was very little to dust.

In the main hallway, he whisked his feather duster over a console table that welcomed the Manor's residents and guests that fell just off the vestibule. On it were pictures of Master Wayne and family, aside a common telephone and a phone directory with helpful public numbers. Private numbers, however, everyone had in their cell phones.

As he hovered over the telephone, it rang. He let it ring twice, as it was customary, then picked it up. "Hello? Wayne Manor, this is Alfred Pennyworth speaking. How may I be of assistance?" He always spoke polite and catering.

" _Pennyworth?_ " came a young man's voice on the other end. " _Oh, yes…the manservant, I-I mean, the Wayne butler. I mean, is either term politically correct these days?_ "

"Indeed, sir; I am the Wayne Manor butler, and I am comfortable with the term, as you put it," Alfred replied. "Whom may I say is calling? Do you have a name? Do you wish to speak to someone within the household?"

There was a small pause before the man spoke again. " _Oh, my name is Paul Hudson. I'm an old buddy of Dick Grayson's. We used to be partners in the Bludhaven Police Department. Is he here? I couldn't get him at his apartment, or on his cell. It keeps going to voicemail._ "

"Yes, Master Dick is present. And regard to his cell, I'm afraid he damaged it recently and has yet to replace it."

" _Dropped it, did he? He was always losing or breaking things in Bludhaven. I remember once he lost all his clothes when he tangled with a weird chick that took him for a ride. Swindled, I mean — in poker. She was a card counter, he later learned. But he's always been kind of a naive but trustworthy guy._ "

"Indeed, Mr. Hudson; I would trust him with my life if the case call for it. If you would wait a moment, I'll see where I can find him."

"Sure, and thanks."

"Not a problem, sir," Alfred said, and gently put down the receiver on the console table, and left.

Alfred was unsure where Master Dick was at the moment. He had engaged in his duties, and the last time he had seen the young master was at breakfast, but that was over an hour ago.

Then he recalled that Master Dick had agreed to help Master Damian with some homework. Damian was very smart and knowledgable—that came from tutoring for years under his mother in snowy mountains of Switzerland—however, most of the time, the youngest master would become the educator to the teacher.

Master Dick once quipped, "They sure don't make things like they used to when I was a kid. Everything has changed. And this 'new math' is a killer."

Alfred made his way to the Library, and almost immediately he heard, not the sounds of lecturing, but that of playfulness. _In the Library? This is a room for reflection and solitude, not for playing._

He opened the double doors, and the first thing he observed, apart from Master Bruce sitting, as a proper gentleman should within such a room as the Library, reading a book, were all four young masters engaged in a game of Twister on the floor. Richard, Jason, Timothy, and Damian, were all "playing" the game. Well, Damian was sitting on a two-seater couch holding what appeared to be a large turn wheel with shapes and colours.

Alfred looked stone-faced, and Bruce shrugged when they met glances. It didn't need to be said, they were having fun, and that was the main thing, even if it was in the Library of all places. With all the crime fighting the "boys" had done over the past couple of weeks, this was some well deserved relaxation.

But Alfred felt the game lacked grace, because it never failed that the players always found themselves in weird and compromising positions reserved for "other" activities. Normally no one wanted to play with Dick Grayson because he was so abnormally flexible because of his acrobatic prowess, but somehow he had persuaded everyone to play now. The furniture was pushed back to accommodate the large playing field of colour shapes on the plastic mat.

Damian swung the wheel for Tim's turn. Tim moved easily. Tim's pelvis was currently up in the air, his butt couldn't touch the rest of the playing field unless it called for it, or he'd loose. Jason was on top of him facing Tim, their bodies compromisingly pressed together; the second elder master's feat of agility was slightly more simplified with both hands on the mat at his side, with his right knee down.

Tim said something to the tone of, "I hope you didn't have another viagra smoothie," to Jason, chuckling. And Jason replied, "Well, if I did, you'd be hard pressed and flat to the floor," indicating a certain "bigness" of his organ. Dick Grayson cradled Jason's head with his lower region, his arms and legs over-stretched and down on the mat. "Hey Dickiebird, whatever you do, don't pass gas," Jason then said. "I'll be in the full brunt of the windstorm."

"I guess I shouldn't have had that second helping of coffee then," Dick joked.

"Oh crap," Tim's face cringed up. "Cramp! I didn't stretch before playing! My side, my side…" And he lost his balance, collapsing to the floor. He slipped out from underneath Jason, holding his side. "Ow! Ow! Stitch in my side."

"You okay, Tim?" Dick asked.

Tim got to his feet. "Yeah," he said dejected. "Up to you now, Jason; Dick has never lost in Twister." Tim noticed Alfred, but the butler put a hand to his mouth to silence any acknowledgement. Obviously, he didn't wish to disturb the game, and the others' fun at the moment. Damian also got the silent message. Jason and Dick hadn't noticed yet.

"Well, there's always a first time," Jason said cunningly.

Dick said: " _Confucius Twister Master say: Never twist confidence into victory unless you truly wish to lose._ "

"So lame," Damian said, then spun the wheel. "Jason: Left elbow to the Yellow circle."

Jason smiled, now with Tim out of the game, it was easier for him manoeuvre about, and that last turn of the wheel gave him an easy move. The spot was on his left side. Now he was better balanced on the mat.

Dick loomed over Jason in a better position, but the master of the game hadn't won yet.

Damian swung the wheel again, but as the arrow came to a slow stop, Alfred finally spoke up. "Master Dick, telephone call for you. It is a Mr. Paul Hudson."

"Really?" Dick said excited. "Wow, I haven't spoke to him in years, not since were on the Bludhaven PD together."

"Do you concede, Dickiebird?" Jason taunted.

"Nope, never in your wildest dreams." Dick looked at Damian. "What did does it say, D?"

Damian said, "Blue Square; right next to your other hand."

Dick's brow rose. "Oh boy, Jason, I apologize in advance for this."

"Huh?" Jason looked down as Dick's hand reached over Jason's butt and interposed both his arms itches from Jason's crotch. And as if on purpose, Dick pressed inward, touching the gap, and nudged Jason. The push tilted Jason off-balance, and he collapsed to the mat. "Damn it!" He slammed a fist down. "I almost had you this time! You cheated. You're not supposed to touch another player."

"It's within the rules, Jason," Damian said, putting down the spin-wheel. "Grayson won, fare and square — Again."

Dick sat down. "Sorry Jay, that's how cookie crumbles. It's a game of chance and luck. It only takes one spin of the wheel to give you the luck of the Irish or crush your dreams of victory with it taking you to where you body can't go. I stay in shape, something you need to work more on, Captain Thunder thighs."

Jason's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait? What did you just call me? My thighs are not big!"

Damian laughed. "I'll have to remember that one! With all the nicknames you call me, there's one for you now."

"Stuff it, short-stack," Jason said, pointing a finger at him. And he also told Tim off, too. "I'm in great shape! I had one women tell me I have the body of Greek God!"

Damian snorted. "Zeus or Hephaestus? If she said Zeus, I don't see it."

"Hey, you little snot! I don't have a deformity. I died, if that's a disadvantage, I've learned to live with it."

Damian stood on his feet. "Mental arrogance—that's a major deformity in your case," he said confrontationally. "You could play Grayson a thousand times and still have no chance of defeating him in this game. Both you and Grayson come from a family of acrobats, but Grayson has honed his skills to a much higher level than you."

Bruce slammed his book shut, everyone looked at him. "Damian, that was cruel. You know full well the different paths both Dick and Jason took. No one wanted what happened to Jason. Apologize to him now!"

— _Tt_ — Damian looked away, said, "Yeah, well, I was out of line with that comment; Sorry, Todd."

Bruce looked at Jason, cocked his head for a reply. "Fine. Apology accepted," Jason said, albeit reluctantly.

"You're grown adults, some of you, but you all still act like children," Alfred said. Then he smiled. "But I wouldn't have it any other way." My kids, he mused. He then said, "Master Dick, telephone call in the main hallway."

"Oh, right, thanks Alfred." Dick left.

 **x x x**

Dick Grayson headed for the main hallway. He had kept up with a few friends he had made in Bludhaven after he moved back to Gotham City, but he had lost contact with Sgt. Paul Hudson, and with his phone dead, all his contacts had been lost. He was glad his friend at called him. He reached for the telephone and picked up the receiver. "Hey Paul, long time no see. Sorry for the wait — what's up?"

"I was waiting here humming the Jeopardy theme song waiting to answer the skill testing question: _Was I forgotten?_ I was just about to hang up. I tried your cell, it goes directly to voicemail. Pennyworth, your butler, said you broke it again? Something to do with a def-defying chase after some crooks or you left it somewhere with your clothes in a back alleyway. Or, you just accidentally stepped on it like that time in the locker room at BPD HQ one time?"

Dick laughed. "None of the above," he said. "Nothing as heroic or absentminded as that; I just dropped it, and it broke, and died." He had accidentally dropped it from a very high distance when swinging after a criminal; he had failed to secure it properly in his Nightwing costume. But he couldn't tell Paul that. "These things just happen. As for Alfred, he'd never forget about a friend of mine. He has a memory like an elephant. So, how's things in Bludhaven?"

Paul Hudson told Dick that he was no longer with the Bludhaven PD and now owned a very successful nightclub called The Awakening. He said it was his dream to own a nightclub. He had bought the building for pennies on the dollar and now five years later it was the talk of the town. Dick was shocked. He knew Paul loved music and spoke often that that he always wanted to open a nightclub, that it was always a dream to do so, but he didn't have the capital. But then said he found a partner who went in with him and within a year it began earning a major profit.

"I need a favour, Dick; a big one, actually," Paul began, "I didn't know who else to turn to. I know you have police experience, but I don't know what you're doing now. Two of my workers called in sick from suspected food poisoning and I have a VIP coming to the club tonight—in fact, he's an associate to my silent partner. He's come to check up on things from time to time, a bit of an eccentric guy, but he doesn't make any trouble, and since my partner owns forty-nine percent of the club, and he has many other businesses and associates connected to him, I need to keep-up-appearances for him to continue investing. He's been thinking of selling, despite the club being highly successful. I'm kind of maxed out on my credit, at the moment, and I wish I could buy the remaining percentage from him, but I can't right now. Anyway, that's my problem," he finished.

"So, what's the favour?" Dick asked.

"I need you, and if you have a qualified friend, to Bounce for me tonight. I know it may be short notice and that's why I'm going to pay you each five-thousands-a-head for the night, plus a bonus at the end of the night."

Dick was stunned and speechless. "Five thousand dollars a head for one night just to be Bouncers? Really?"

"I'm desperate, Dick. I could really use your help tonight. What to you say? Will you do it? I know you don't need the money, not with Daddy War-bucks—sorry, that was bad joke—I know how much Bruce Wayne does for Gotham and its many charities. I really need this favour, buddy. Please say yes?"

Dick thought he sensed a little resentment from his friend. Paul always had to struggle to get what he wanted unlike Dick being adopted by Bruce Wayne after the death of his family and becoming his ward, money was ever at his finger-tips. Maybe he just imagined it? He immediately put it out of his mind.

"Money's no issue, Paul, you know that," Dick said. "You saved my butt more than once on the street when we partners in the BPD, I owe you more than just a favour. I owe you my life. If it wasn't for you, while I was distracted by that other low-life crook, I would never have seen his partner in my blindspot pointing a gun at me. You took him out. That is why you're always be one of my best friends. I'll be happy to help out."

Paul sounded utterly relieved. "Thank you, Dick. Thank you, thank you!"

Jason had just walked into the main hallway, and Dick waved him over, and smiled. "And I have a perfect complement. I'll bring him to the club. He has more than enough experience to deal with anything that comes up."

Jason cocked his head confused. He pointed at himself, and then mouthed, "Me?" And Dick nodded.

Paul thanked Dick again, and the call ended.

"Okay, what's all this about going to a club? Have you set up a double date for us? Is my girl cute?"

"No date tonight, but we will be getting paid for services rendered. And no, I didn't hire you out to be a gigolo, Captain Thunder Thighs." Jason cursed him for starting that, and Dick laughed. "We're going to be Bouncers for a nightclub my friend owns, and he's going to pay us five-thousand-dollars-a-head, plus a bonus at the end of the night."

Jason's eyes widened. "Really? I'd rather be enjoying the limelight instead of watching others having all the fun, but hey, I'll take it. Some pocket cash is always good."

"Good, we'll take my Sedan—the Daddy Car, as you call it; Mar'i, my daughter, loves it by the way—to Bludhaven. We'll need to pack a few things, just in case."

And Jason knew what "just in case" meant, and they both set off to pack.

 _ **To Be Continued...**_


	2. The NightClub

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

 _ **"THE NIGHTCLUB"**_

It took just under an hour to get to Bludhaven via the _Expressway_ in Dick's Sedan. Both he and Jason had shaved, showered, and spruced themselves up as if they were going to a job interview. They even wore suits and ties, which Jason thought was a little over the top if they were going to a nightclub. But Dick said he wanted them both to look good, even if they may change into another uniform when they got there, which was probably the case.

Bouncers normally wore casual attire, but Tim had looked up the club on the internet, and everyone was surprised at just how popular _The Awakening_ was. Write-ups and reviews gave the nightclub 5 out of 5 stars. Famous celebrities and popular bands, stage acts, and stars, and the hottest singing Idol performers, had visited _The Awakening_ in the past year alone, and that had boosted the club's standing to top tier status within the its respected realm.

Before they parked in the rear, they stopped, got out of the Sedan, and took a look at the front of the club. With flashing neon lights, that were not on at the moment because it was daylight, and its exterior facade looking much like a very large matinee performing-arts theatre, or something that could only be seen in Las Vegas amongst all those casinos—Paul did say he had bought an already established standing structure—it exhibited a _wow_ reaction right off the bat. According to the club's website, it could house up to two thousand people.

"Impressive," Jason said in awe. "If the outside looks this amazing, I can't wait to see inside."

Dick nodded. "Paul's always been into music; all the top bands, celebrities, and such, and he was always reading up on all the latest news in the genre when we were partners in the Bludhaven PD. He couldn't get enough. Being a cop was a part-time job for him, owning a club was his sole passion in life. I'm glad he could realize his dream."

"You lived in Bludhaven because Bruce asked you to weed out BPD's corruption, right?"

"Yup, it was a request from Commissioner Gordon, too, and in collaboration with Bludhaven's mayor. It was a secret insertion, but while I was a cop, I made a lot of good friends that I still keep in touch with. It turned out some cops were on the take, but most of them were clean. In Bludhaven, at the time, a criminal known as Blockbuster ruled the roost. When he died, Internal Affairs swept in and cleaned house in the BPD. I was no longer needed, so I moved back to Gotham City. I told Paul I was homesick."

"Awww," Jason said with a mocking tone. "Dickiebird missed his family, how cute." He laughed.

They parked in the rear, there was plenty of parking, and got out of the Sedan. Almost immediately, Paul Hudson was out the rear door and there to greet them. And he greeted Dick with a big hug, wrapping his arms around Dick's body like a bear. The man was the same height as Dick Grayson, blonde-hair, but had a slimmer body frame. He wore dark pants, a stripped shirt, white tie, brown loafers, and thin wire frame glasses. Styling and profiling, Dick thought.

When he broke the hug, he smiled so big, it reminded Dick of a Joker smile. "Thank you for coming, Dick. I am so glad you decided to take me up on my offer." He looked at Jason. "And whose this handsome devil?"

Dick smirked, seeing the sudden awkwardness on Jason's face. "You've never met, but this is Jason," he said.

"Ah, right," Paul said with smile. "Your brother, your adopted brother. I remember you said he got into a little trouble when he was younger, and went away for a while, and then came back from the dead, so to speak." Paul laughed short. "Very nice to meet you, Jason. Thanks for coming. I've heard stories about you, and I hear you can handle your own in a street-fight. Dick says you like to box, interesting sport." Paul then looked slightly above Jason's eye-line. "I like the hair, so now, so…what do kids call it these days… _Otaku_ , right? A Japanese term meaning you like character cosplay in Japanese animation. Some of those shows are pretty good. My old boyfriend had a collection of the stuff."

Dick put a hand to his mouth to avoid laughing. Jason had a confused look on his face. "Um, no…this is my real hair, and no, I'm not into that animation stuff. And did you just say you had a _boyfriend_?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Paul's gay…" Dick explained, further. "He came out to me when we were in the BPD. Funny story, he actually asked me out on a date thinking I may be interested." They both had a small laugh. "I explained to him I wasn't. Paul's feelings weren't hurt. But I was the first person he came out to. And I admired him for that. Happiness comes from within. And it doesn't matter who you love or are attached to. Gender shouldn't be a factor."

"How politically correct of you," Jason said, winking.

"I couldn't agree more, Dick. Thats why I was so excited to finally open up my own nightclub. And I'm so happy you're finally here to enjoy it with me, and you to Jason."

Paul looked Jason up and down, encircling him. "I can't see your body clearly in that suit. I have to look in the locker room for a uniform for you, Jason. But I should have a Bouncer uniform for you; kinda of husky."

Jason frowned. "Husky?"

"Um, Paul — Jason doesn't like to be called husky," Dick said. "We can't go into the details, but someone once called him that, and it didn't end well. Jason's a little sensitive about that one word in particular. Call it a pet peeve."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Forgive me, Jason. Okay, but you do have a good build for the job. People won't mess with you." He turned to Dick. "There's been a slight mix-up. I was originally told we needed two Bouncers, but we only need one. However, one of our Floor Servers has now called in absent. Unfortunately it couldn't be helped. His wife is having a baby. She wasn't due for another week, but the little guy decided to come early." Paul smiled. "So, Jason, I will need you to be a Floor Bouncer, and Dick, if you can, I need you to take over as a Floor Server — take orders, serve drinks, food, that sort of thing. Same price as I told you, plus a bonus at the end of the night, as promised. Is that okay?"

Dick shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"Have you served tables before?"

"He's never said, but he's danced on them," Jason said, with a smirk. "And swung from poles. The ladies loved him."

"You've stripteased?" Paul's eyes widened. "I would never have taken you for doing something like that. You were always so conservative when it came to morality, and all that."

Dick gave Jason a sideways glance — as if saying why did you have to tell him that? "It was a long time ago. I was also helping out a friend," he lied. He couldn't say it was undercover for a case for Bruce to catch a mobster. "Suffice it say, it felt very relaxing and carefree. No stress attached. And the money was good, too."

"Until Barb caught you, that is," Jason added. "When she and her friends just happen to visit the strip club."

"The Barbara Gordon? The daughter of the Commissioner of Gotham City Police? That Barbara Gordon? The same woman you were dating a little ways back? That must've been awkward to say the least."

"Let's just say, I couldn't look her in the eye for a while, and leave it at that," Dick said, his face a little flushed.

Paul laughed. He then extended a hand to the rear doors. "Please, let me show you around. You'll need to get a feel for the place before tonight. I'm afraid you're going to have to be quick learners. Guests should start arriving within a few hours. And our special guest will be fashionably late, of course."

 **x x x**

Paul escorted them around the massive interior of the nightclub. The entire place had the feel of a large rotunda with multi-facet tiers of gated platforms, mini-bars, standing only tables, a massive gloss dance floor, a grandiose stage for the performers, with side-to-side wolfers, and an up-to-date sound system—that at the moment was playing at a low level—and a main bar at ground level that every Floor Server will have come to, to pick up their orders, placed with PDA's, (Personal Data Assistance), and wifi directly that was linked into a mainframe and controlled by an Operations Centre on the top tier. Last but not least, there was a very large kitchen behind the bar with at least a dozen chefs on hand. There were also private rooms completely furnished to different "tastes", with large screen televisions's in each, broadcasting what was happening on the main floor. There was also break-room for the workers, and of course, three sets of washrooms, with plenty of room to accommodate. The whole escort took approximately twenty minutes.

"And everything is monitored with an HD CCTV 4K system," Paul said, completing the tour.

They were now standing in the middle of the massive dance floor. Jason turned around, gazing upward, his eyes sprinkling with admiration, Dick observed — or it could've just been the lights in the club?

"I am in Heaven!" Jason praised. "I need a drink — Whiskey, _Neat_."

Paul gasped.

"He's kidding, he knows not to drink in the job" Dick said. Jason agreed "I am awestruck, Paul. You've done well for yourself. This must be expensive to maintain. According to your web profile, it's one of the most popular nightclubs in town. Why are in need of more capital? I thought this place was making a huge profit? Just between us, we snuck a peak at your financial portfolio online. My other adopted brother Tim Drake is very crafty with computers."

"Ah, you've mentioned him before, too," Paul said. "It is — online. _The Awakening_ is doing very well. I was also thinking of hitting other investors on the Stock Market by selling shares, but I haven't gotten around to it yet. As you've observed the place is high-profile, so I want it stay that way. I've taken out a few loans to maintain its status. I'm hoping tonight, when the silent partner's associate arrives, he'll put in a good word with his boss, and things will start paying for itself. Paying to keep people happy is expensive."

Both Dick nor Jason wondered who the "silent partner" was, but neither one asked.

"But are _you_ happy, Paul?" Dick asked with a seriousness.

" _Damn right I am!_ I love this place. I'd die if anything bad happened to it. This is my dream, Dick. To own a nightclub like this has always been my passion. It was like the awakening of my soul, hence the name of the club. Again, I'm so glad you're here. I've wanted to invite you for a while now, but busy, busy, busy — you know how it works, right?"

Jason and Dick looked at each and nodded with a silent understanding. In their line of work, they were always busy. "Yup, we both know how it works," Dick said. "Glad we can help. Now, let's get started. This sounds very exciting!"

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	3. Assigned Jobs

_**CHAPTER THREE**_

 _ **"ASSIGNED JOBS"**_

Dick Grayson came to regret his words to Paul a few hours later when the nightclub was packed and he was shuffled from table to table, taking order after order. But if there was such a thing as "ordered chaos" the nightclub was it. There were seventeen Floor Servers and twenty-five Floor Bouncers, one of which was Jason, plus four more at the front entrance checking admissions. Behind the bar there were seven Bartenders, and a dozen Chefs in the Kitchen. And that was just the staff. That came to forty-six people running the show.

Plus those in the Operations Centre or "Ops", as they called it, and regular Security, that patrolled the exterior.

And then there was Paul Hudson, the Architect. In fact, everyone had "code names", real names were not allowed. It was to distinguish an exactly person. If a person's station and number was called, then the order spoken into the bluetooth earbuds everyone had for communication was directed to that precise staff member.

For example, Dick Grayson's call sign was "Server #17". Once he placed an order on the PDA, and it was sent through the network to the Bar/Kitchen for processing, with the suffix table number attached—the PDA also included a location map of each table so it was easy to navigate—then the order was marked for preparation, with a continuous rotating total, including cost and taxes. All payment was done by "tap card", no paper currency was accepted. It was easier to keep track of.

Overall, it was a pretty efficient set-up. Everyone did their assigned jobs and they did it with such prevision and professionalism.

However, this was the only time Dick Grayson felt out of place, as he went to and fro, with PDA in hand, to his designated tables, orders sent, and orders picked up from the Bar/Kitchen area. Navigating through the crowd was the most difficult part of the job. Hundreds of people were always in the servers way, so they had to think on their feet, turning and twirling, avoiding wild and drunken dancers.

And then there was the music. Thank god each server had ear buds with sound proofing technology embedded in. It made the music sound muffled as if they had cotton in their ears. It also made hearing their readied orders much easier. In the last hour alone, several people had bumped into Dick and made him spill his order on the floor. On another occasion, one earbud came loose, and he heard the music for what its worth, creating a tone-deafness like atmosphere, accompanying the disco-kinescope flashers and light streamers, amidst the rest of the place.

Paul just said keep going, that he was doing great. It was a lie of course, but Dick knew his friend would encourage him no matter what. He encouraged all his workers and gave them suitable salaries and bonuses for their hard work. But Dick had to admit, this wasn't what he thought working in a nightclub would be like. No wonder Paul offered both Dick and Jason five-thousand dollars a piece to work. It took a lot of hard work and skill in a place like this.

Wally would probably love this place. And if Jason wasn't working, he'd probably be enjoying it to.

"Server #17 - _wake up!"_ a sharp, snappish voice sounded from his earpiece, and this broke Dick from his reverie. It was "Ops". "Your orders are piling up! Return to the bar and pick up Orders #45 and #46." And the person recited off the orders. Dick confirmed both on his PDA.

"Yes, sorry," Dick said. "Right away."

For a second, he got the image of Alfred laughing. After this, he respected the man even more now for everything he did. Alfred was a butler, a friend, a confidante, a fighter and a therapist — all rolled into one. And for all the crap the Wayne family household put him through, the man deserved a bloody metal. Dick now knew how he felt.

Dick wondered what Jason was doing right now. He was probably loving his job. _A bit too much_ , he thought.

 **x x x**

Jason was loving his job. He finally found something he loved that took into consideration of his passion for "vigilante justice", so to speak. He had to use restraint, of course, but most of the time, his job gave him precedence to evoke a deputed-like law enforcement to those who deserved it.

Before he was put to work, he reported to his Supervisor, a burly kind of guy that went by the name of " _Boss_ ". His real name was Johnny Hogg, but everyone called him "Boss" not only due to his position, but because to those who remembered it, referred to him after Boss Hogg from the 1980s TV television show _Dukes of Hazard_. He didn't mind the nickname and flaunted his power much like the character the name portrayed in the TV series.

But not with Jason — and almost immediately the two were embroiled within confrontation. Paul had to be a go-between. But after what was later felt like two dominate cats locking eyes and hissing at each other over territory, Jason became the better man and conceited to Hogg's position. Besides, it was only a one night deal.

Much like all the Servers, the Bouncers — both outside the club and the Floor Bouncers — were all equipped with wireless earpieces that were on a separate frequency, and controlled by "Ops". With the system, all Bouncers were in constant contact with each other, and if some suspicious activity was observed, everyone was made aware.

"Boss" Hogg explained Jason his duties and told him to be especially vigilant when it came to the bathrooms. They had had some trouble with people advertising a "meet and greet" on the internet, and having sex in the stalls, and using enhancing drugs. But it had only been recently with a few rough-characters who had entered the club. There were men and women Bouncers, and Jason got to meet everyone during the nightly orientation.

There was even one lady bouncer he took a liking too. She was strong looking, had blond-hair tied in a pony-tail, and wore a set of shades like a biker-chick from Hell. It was an immediate turn on. Unfortunately, "Butch" Cassidy was not interested in him. And there was a reason why she was given the name "Butch." Because she acted like a man.

During the orientation, "Boss" Hogg discussed the typical routine and nightly duties of each Bouncer — twenty-five in all — and each Floor Bouncer had a special route to hover. The exterior Bouncers merely protected the entry ways, apart from regular Security. They were all dressed the same, nothing too strict or flashy, so they could blend in with the crowd unnoticed like your average Lost Protection Officer in any major department store. However, Jason was given a black cap to cover up his two-tone hair. At first, he refused. But then relented. Because the art of blending in was all about not standing out, and his hair, even Paul Hudson remarked, was outstanding.

"I want tonight to run smoothly," "Boss" Hogg dictated. "No problems and no slips-ups. No one drinks and no one gets rough — you call for back-up if a situation gets harry. Understand? No one, and I mean, no one takes things into their own hands. We're still dealing with a couple of lawsuits from past Bouncers who felt they were above their position. You stick to your routes and don't stray. People do watch us. And patrols are meant to overlap for a reason."

Everyone agreed.

He then looked directly at Jason. "And you, new guy…"

"Yo! Bossman!" Jason gave a salute.

Hogg eyed him incredulously. "Don't get smart. Mr. Hudson explained to me you have some pretty nice credentials, did some detective work for a good firm, some LPO shit" —Paul had exaggerated slightly — "and that you box in your free time, but no funny business here. By the book! You're here as a sub for one of our top guys — 'Bouncer #5'. He got food poisoning, some bad seafood or something, I don't know. That's why you never eat off a guest's plates. The guest probably has food poisoning, too. The kitchen has dealt with it. If you do a good tonight and there's no issues, we may keep you on the roster as a back-up. For the time being, Cassidy will shadow you."

Jason turned to the woman who had turned down his advances, she was standing next to him looking the ever butch. "Sure, no problem, I'm sure she and I will get along swimmingly." She didn't even look at him. Jason sighed. "Boss, on a serious note, who is this bigwig we're expecting tonight? Any information would be good."

"He's the assistant to Mr. Hudson's silent partner, that's all you need to know. Oh, but, just one thing," he began as an afterthought. "He dresses like a _clown_ and I don't mean that figuratively. When he arrives, you can't miss him."

When the orientation was over, everyone broken off. Jason was left standing unwatched next to his shadow partner. Suddenly, Cassidy cupped his bottom and he jerked up. She had cupped it quite firmly. "Nice cheeks, tone and firm," she said. "You work out, don't you?" Would this consider as work related sexual harassment? "I could show you things, do things to you that you'd only see on hardcore S&M and in leather, dominatrix adult websites."

"Um, okay…" Jason said, slightly taken aback. "Hey, I thought you weren't interested?"

"We'll talk, Thunder Thighs." And she winked at him. Walked away.

Thunder Thighs? Do I really have large thighs? He'd have to change his workout routine to tone his thighs down then. That was two people who thought he had larger than normal thighs for his body size. Some would say it was an endearing remark, but when every movement counted in the field, fighting crime, extra weight was a no-no. He immediately thought of Dick. He had an overall toner workout than merely weights and barbells like Jason.

When the night started, things happened quickly for the nightclub. Guests poured in like water, and when the special music group that was hired for the night started, the place began to reverberate with a dance-tone like no other, and with information passed down through the "Bouncer Network", fifteen-hundred people had already passed through the main entrance. At one point, he observed Dick actually looking overwhelmed in being a Server.

After three hours, so far, he had only caught one couple getting frisky in the bathroom. Cassidy felt he was comfortable enough being left alone, so she went to shadow the floor. His head moved to the beat of the music as he stood near a wall, but with the earpieces in the sound was toned down considerably. It was to assure that the Bouncers could hear instructions. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, no issues had been reported.

Another Bouncer came to stand next to him, and he mentioned it was a hot and happening place tonight. Jason agreed. Then he turned and said, "Take my place for a few minutes, gotta use the facilities." The other nodded, and Jason left for a long hallway, which also lead to a far door and the back alley where the trash bins were stored.

When he entered, the bathroom was clean and bright. It had eight stalls, six urinals, and six taps. Jason chose a urinal and unzipped. He didn't know why, but he felt an unlined pressure of relief when he urinated. He looked down and saw he was a little 'excited'. "Oh great, must've been that Cassidy-chick," he said, then smiled. "I like strong women; Barbara, for one. She's so damn hot! And I thought she wasn't interested in guys? Down boy, maybe later."

He zipped up after finishing and washed his hands. Oddly enough, he was the only one in this washroom. There were other washrooms around the nightclub at different points and more observant to people; the cleaners really had their task set out for them; and he figured probably it was the vicinity of this washroom and its out-of-the-way location from the others that made it a lonely place, which just happened to be the same washroom he caught the couple in earlier.

Jason was impressed by Paul Hudson's nightclub. Spending so much time in Gotham City, he never thought Bludhaven, Dick's old stomping grounds, was so lively with such entertainment. Bludhaven also had two casinos, a couple of four-star restaurants, a stable business district, a scenic waterfront and beach — it was a nice place to live. Maybe it wasn't pretty before Dick wiped out the major crime syndicate run by a thug named Blockbuster, but now, it surely lived up to the second half of its name now — Haven.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	4. Associate's Arrival

_**CHAPTER FOUR**_

 _ **"ASSOCIATE'S ARRIVAL"**_

Paul Hudson sat in what was affectionally known as the "Command Chair" that had a permanent place in the middle of the Operations Centre of _The Awakening_ Nightclub. He also referred it to his Captain's Chair, beckoning it like the chair on the bridge of the Enterprise in the old television series _Star Trek_. It had all the characteristics as Captain Kirk's chair, but was made of a high-quality steel and temperate padded seat cushion and back rest.

He sat back in the chair, his arms on resting comfortably on the sides. On one side, there was a panel where he could type in a number to any CCTV camera anywhere on a screen and the image would be displayed on the largest monitor on the wall before him. It was surrounded and boxed in with other screens that captured over a hundred different locations within and outside of the club. Manned by several operators.

Every angle was captured. And so far, everything had got off without a hitch as it normally did. But tonight was a special night with a VIP. He only knew the man — the assistant to his silent partner — by name. Unfortunately, every time Paul had been away from the nightclub on other business, the man had paid it a visit. He never caused any trouble and everyone loved him. He had a special charm despite his outwardly, clownish appearance, Paul was told. The man liked to laugh a lot, too, and often came dressed head-to-toe in purple. Tonight, he was bringing a friend along, and she, too, liked to act and dress eccentric.

"Server #17- _wake up!_ " came a voice to his right. It was the voice of one of his Operations Managers, Steve Kyle, who manned the communication network. He sat at a large circular high-tech table surrounded by a set of computer consoles. His hands moved from place to place on its touch surface — 3D images portrayed themselves about the console in luminance images. "Your orders are piling up! Return to the bar and pick up Orders #45 and #46."

"Right, sorry," came his friend Dick Grayson's voice. "Right away."

Paul smirked. Little did Dick know what he got himself into when he agreed to help out tonight. But, of course, Dick wasn't used to work like this. His forte was detective work, cop-stuff. Even all this high-technology was a bit over Paul's head, so that's why he had hired some of the best and brightest in the tech business to run it. The nightclub was making a profit in certain areas, but his debts were mounting up in others — personal debts. To keep the financial numbers from the club positive, he often took out loans with the banks on a line of credit not associated with the club. With a new flow of cash into the place from his silent partner after he saw the latest numbers, however, he assured himself everything would be back into the black again, and he could pay his personal debts off.

"Don't push Server #17 too hard, Steve," Paul said with a smirk. "He's not used to all this activity. Maybe we should give him something a little easier. Not so many tables. He's flubbing a lot of orders even with the PDA."

"I agree," Steve remarked back, looking up from his table. "I think we should cut his tables, too. Maybe to only a few, and give him light orders. The others will have to pick up the slack. When is _you—know—who_ arriving?"

Hudson checked his watch. "Mr. Oker is fashionably late, as he said he would be." Suddenly his personal cell phone rang. He looked at the display. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear. It's him now." He answered, put the phone to his ear. "Mr. Oker, it's a pleasure to speak with you. I'm sorry we keep missing each other. Business is booming…" Paul nodded, as if responding to something said. "Thank-you for the understanding, I'm glad you enjoy the club and have been a repeat customer, much like a lot of our clientele. We have so many people coming back to the club and posting positive reviews online. That's how we get the word out. They are the best form of advertising, and free. Celebrities also come in from time to time and music groups phone us up wishing to perform. Tonight we have an excellent band whose playing the entire night called the Sonics…" He nodded again. "I'm glad we could finally agree on a collective arrangement. Everything is in readiness for your arrival. You have a private booth, and I'll have one Server address your every needs." Hudson looked at Steve, and Steve seemed to get the message, and contacted Server #17 — Dick Grayson. "Yes, or course," Paul continued. "She is welcome, too. We'll expect you very soon."

The call ended. "Okay people, here's the plan. Monitor as normal but be alert. Tell the staff of Mr. Oker's pending arrival — all frequencies. Have them be on their best, top form — no slip-ups! Tell them they'll be a bonus in it for each of them if all goes well. If our guest isn't happy with our performance tonight, the joke will be on us!"

 **x x x**

Dick Grayson returned to the bar after serving three more tables. The orders just kept coming and he was beginning to feel exhausted. How did people do this everyday? This was not his forte. If he knew it would be like this, he'd never would have agreed to it. Even crime fighting was easier than this and it was a lot more fun.

 _Stop complaining,_ Grayson, he told himself. _Your friend needed you and you agreed to it. Buck up! It's only for one night.  
_

Okay, now that he gave himself a pep-talk he was ready to work again. His PDA said he was waiting on two more orders — drinks, fries, and burgers — from the kitchen. The PDA was a fantastic piece of technology. It had everything, so a Server wouldn't have to remember anything. Each table had its own personal GPS marker, so the map on the PDA would take the Server directly to it without fail. The menu was directly in the PDA with pictures and all the Server had to do was hand it to the customer to scroll, click, and agree to payment. Then the network received the order and processed it, and the Server retrieved it, and took it to the designated table.

In itself, that was easy. But the volume of orders was what was killing Grayson.

As he waited at the bar, he suddenly saw his friend exit a ground floor doorway that lead to stairs to the Operations Centre on one of the upper tiers. Paul walked through the crowd and was headed to the front entrance. But something about his friend's body language gave Dick pause for thought. Paul looked nervous.

Then through his earpiece came a "global announcement". "To all staff: Our special guest has arrived. Repeat, our special guest has arrived. Server #17, you have hereby been reassigned to the VIP table solely, as per the Architect. Treat our VIP like royalty. Anything he wants, give it to him. Server #14 will take your orders. That is all."

Server #14 approached the bar, and smiled. He was a good looking, young man, with blonde-hair, thin-build. "Lucky you, newbie, you already get to be promoted to the VIP committee," he said. But it didn't sound spiteful, it was almost as if he was enjoying it. That he was thankful that someone else was assigned to the job. "Hey #17, here's a piece of advise — the man's a loon, dresses the part, too. Be cautious. On the other hand, his little sweetheart is eye candy in her palindrome costume. She can be a bit demanding, best to give her what she wants. They're big tippers, too."

Dick nodded, thanking him for the information.

The other directed Dick to the VIP booth pointing in its direction near the back of the club, built on an elevated tier level where the whole dance floor could be observed; he said that's where all the "rich folk" sit. The situation almost reminded Dick of a mobster who wanted to keep his eye on the door just in case he had to react to an attack. He hoped his friend hadn't gotten into anything illegal or got involved into something so out of his depth.

But the Paul Hudson Dick knew wasn't like that.

Dick wondered who this special VIP was and thought he should know something about him before he started to serve him and his companion, but Server #14's orders came, and the man left, wished him good luck before he went.

Dick ventured to the VIP booth to wait. Once there, he observed a large table with a half-rotunda leather high back seating arrangement. It was a stand-alone booth. With the music so loud, he wondered how anyone would be able to enjoy it. But then when he stood in a certain point, closer to the seats, the music became barely audible. He took out one earpiece, and the music had even died down to normal levels — not blaring. The walls were constructed with black, square padded soundproofing, all around the booth — most were of the same size, but some were smaller and others were oblong. He went to feel one and it bounced back in his hand. It must have been used to decease acoustic and sound levels to a bare minimum. _Ingenious_ , he thought. _Tim would love to see this place_.

So, here he waited with a smile. He had to be at his best to make a good impression for Paul's silent business partner's associate. He knew he had been overwhelmed earlier, but now, with only one, he'd be much more on his game. He stood at the ready, his uniform pristine, and the PDA in hand. Anything the man and his lady friend wanted, Dick would do it. He couldn't mess up, or he'd make Paul look bad.

He thought he saw movement in the crowd and a break as Bouncers lead the way for Paul and his VIP's. But the moment Dick saw who they were, his eyes bugled with detrimental shock.

And as the VIP's approached closer, Paul escorting them both though he crowd like royalty, Bouncers on either side like personal security, parting the crowd like a sea, Dick Grayson's hand lost all feeling, and he dropped the PDA to the floor — as Joker and Harley Quinn came to stand before him.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	5. Server 17

_**CHAPTER FIVE**_

 _ **"SERVER #17"**_

Dick Grayson was frozen to the spot as if Mr. Freeze had iced his feet.

Joker, in his unique one-of-a-kind flashy purple dress suit, and Harley Quinn, dressed in her Palindrome clown tights with full-make up, stood before him. When the guy who took his floor serving duties mentioned "palindrome" costume, he had an immediate flash to Harley Quinn — she was the only one he knew who wore such a thing — but he brushed it off, because when the guests started arriving, quite a few people were dressed up in costumes, per se.

He just thought it was the generation, the newer generation liked to dress up in wild clothes and costumes to exhibit their personality traits, but as the criminal pair stared him in the face, he instantly put his guard up. And yet, he couldn't do anything because he was a civilian at the moment, not Nightwing.

The Wayne family were well known in Gotham City, and everyone knew the so-called "Royalty of Gotham", but few people knew them in Bludhaven. And yet, Dick liked to keep a low profile. Tim Drake was the one who had political aspirations at the moment often submitting thesis and opinion articles online, but Dick stayed in the shadows — as proper crime fighters should. Would Joker or Harley recognize him here?

Paul recognized his shock. He then waved a hand across Dick's hand, the movement seemed to break the thousand-yard-stare. "Server #17," Paul began, using only his club designation, "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost?"

 _I have_ , Dick thought. _Can't you see him? One of the worse mass-murdering criminals of all time standing before you, Paul? Why the hell would you invite them here? Are you crazy? This is the associate to your silent partner?_ He didn't want to say anything to set Joker off. And yet, with Joker's pale complexion and Harley's white painted face, he literally thought he was staring at a pair of ghosts. If Jason saw them, he'd immediately flip out, and attack them both.

Joker cocked his head and then leaned in as if to take a closer look at Dick's face. Then chuckled, looking at Dick's name-tag on his shirt-vest, which had his designation number if anyone wished to address him. "Server #17, is it? I heard you're our personal slave tonight?" Joker smirked. "I'll have a Bourbon on the rocks. Harley?"

Harley smiled big. She put a gloved finger under Dick's chin. "And I'll take a Schnapps, cutie," she said, in her young reedy voice. The girl sounded like she still belonged in high school, Dick thought.

"Cutie?" Joker frowned. "Are you flirting with the server already? You do this every time we come here."

"It gets them motivated, Mr. J. Everyone needs a little motivation, it kills the time."

Joker snorted a laugh. "You're so right, Harley. Without a little motivation, nothing gets done."

"You gotta give to get these days," Harley said, smiling at Dick. She lightly padded his cheek.

 _Stay calm,_ Dick, he told himself. _Don't make any sudden moves. Let them have their fun for the moment._

"And you seem to give more than you get back, Harley. But I don't know everything about your likes."

"I'm a giving person, Mr. J." Suddenly Harley's gaze turned narrow and she seemed to lean in closer to Dick. She looked him over from head-to-toe. "Wait a minute, don't I know you from somewhere? You look awfully familiar to me now. Don't you live in Gotham City?"

"I reside there, yes," Dick said honestly, "but I'm helping out my friend Paul tonight. It's a busy night. Excuse me for a moment, I accidentally dropped my PDA, all the excitement, maybe." He leaned over to pick it up. Harley gave him a whack across the butt with a hand. Dick flinched, jerked a little forward, but didn't retaliate.

Paul's mouth went agape. Doing something like that was totally improper and sexually aggressive. He looked like he was about to say something, but Dick shook his head when he looked up. Police Officers were highly trained to deal with the average criminal, and they had more tolerance for actions like this from people on the street, but with Harley, Dick had to play things much more differently. More calm. She had short-fuse.

He stood tall, PDA in his hand.

Harley smiled. "Sorry, I thought I saw a bug," she explained. "Can't be too careful, some of them like to nibble on your bum and get into weirdest places where they're unwelcome. And you have such a yummy bum."

Dick faked a smile. "Not a problem, Miss," he said. "And thank you for the complement, I work out. Have to stay in shape these days. Never know when the next crazy people will try to kill you and you'll need to flee. By the way, I like the costumes. Did you make them yourselves?" It was obviously a hint at mockery.

"Costumes?" Joker voiced confused.

Paul reverted back to the club manager persona. "Server #17, that was rude. Apologize now!"

Joker waved it off. "Don't worry about it, we get that all the time." He and Harley then took a seat in the booth. "Get our drinks, Server #17, and if you're quick about it, maybe you're get a little something extra at the end of the night." Paul gave an order to the Bouncers to disperse and return to their regular duties as everything was okay.

Dick gave a slight bow with a smile. "Of course, sir," —he also repeated the same to Harley— "and may I suggest a basket of fries to munch on? They come highly recommended, piping hot." He tried to play to his required role.

"That sounds lovely," Joker said excited, "two baskets then."

"Then I'll have your drinks and your fries here, quick as a flash," Dick said, throwing another quick-whit mock.

Joker frowned. "What did you say?"

"Pardon, sir?"

"I hate that saying; never use it in my presence again." Joker looked angry. "I know someone with that name and I hate him just as much as hate another guy who likes to dress up in black with pointed ears." And he put his hands to the side of his head with both index fingers up mimicking ears.

Obviously Joker didn't want to say Batman. Despite being here, Bludhaven resided as a low-profile city for criminals who didn't want to be hassled, which may have been the reason Joker and Harley hadn't been seen much in Gotham City as of late, Dick recalled. But if you said the name Nightwing, everyone instantly knew who he was here. _Nightwing: The man who saved Bludhaven,_ billboards once said.

"Forgive me then. It was something that stuck from my childhood. My father used to say it all the time. In fact, to tell you the truth, I never really liked it. Too much of a buzz-phrase that dumb people use," Dick lied.

Joker laughed. "A man with good sensibility — good — I think we'll going to get along swimmingly, Server #17."

And with that, Dick left to establish the order, typing quickly on the PDA. Paul followed. When they reached the bar, Paul put a hand on Dick's shoulder and said, "Hey, what was that over there? You're not the kind to panic."

Dick grabbed Paul's elbow and literally dragged him down an adjacent hallway, so they could talk in private. Paul cringed, asked him to let go. Dick knew he was squeezing a bit too hard, but his friend deserved it. He was upset. Dick took out his earpiece before he spoke, so the Operations Centre wouldn't hear their conversion.

Dick grabbed the lapels of his friend's shirt more in anger than for effect. " _What the hell, Paul!_ Do you know who that is?" Dick was thoroughly upset. "They are two of the most dangerous and sadistic criminals in Gotham City, and you invite them here? Joker is the assistant to your silent partner?"

"You don't understand, Dick. I'm told he's been here several times and there's been no trouble," Paul explained. "I didn't know he was the assistant to my silent partner until recently. I've seen pictures of him, but I thought he was an Otoku kind of guy like your brother Jason, that he likes to dress up. I thought the clothes looked familiar. But you never know these days, some costumes are just as good as the original, even better — conventions, and the such."

"This is crazy, Paul. Absolutely insane! He could recognize me from Gotham, and if he sees Jason, he'll go nuts!" Paul asked him why. But Dick suddenly remembered himself, and said, "Never mind, forget I even said anything." Dick calmed himself, let go of his friend's shirt. Paul smoothed out the creases. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you probably wouldn't have come. If he is the real deal, everything would be ruined if the police raided. And I'd be ruined if they found out he's associated with my club. Everything I worked so hard to create, gone! I've always been away on other business when he comes, drumming up bands, getting the word out, interviews, etc." He put to hands together as if to pray. "So, please, Dick. Don't tell anyone. I'll try to fix things internally. Maybe he'll get bored any never come around anymore. Who knows?"

"I doubt that. Tell me, so is your silent partner?" Dick asked.

"Never seen him," Paul recalled. "He invested through a Numbered Company — some fifteen digit Inc. I forget his name at the moment. I'll have to look it up. I've only spoken to him once. Polite sounding man, very well spoken." His hands were still in the praying position. "So, please Dick, serve Joker politely. Don't make any trouble. I know your cop instincts have kicked it. Laugh at his jokes; and then after he leaves — he only stays for a couple of hours from what I've been told — you and Jason can go, and I'll give you all your salary for the night, no deductions."

Dick snorted frustration, but relented to his friend's request. "Fine, I'll be civil. But the moment he makes any trouble, I'm calling the cops" — _and Batman_ , he thought.

His thoughts went straight to Jason. Joker and Jason had a history that was too long to list, beginning at the moment Joker murdered Jason with a crowbar when he was Robin and then ramped up when Jason was resurrected by Ra's al Ghul with the Lazarus Pit. Followed by his reign as Red Hood, the scourge of Gotham City, the criminal vigilante. Over the years, the two had clashed many times. Bruce had been very persuasive to bring Jason back into the fold.

He had to get to Jason before all hell broke loose. But he couldn't at the moment, serving Joker as Server #17.

He turned to Paul, said: "Paul, I want you to find Jason, and then alert me—then reassign him to somewhere out of the way, off the floor, somewhere secluded, anywhere—and for God's sake, don't tell him about Joker."

"Why, Dick? Tell me why? Do they have some sort of history?"

Dick cursed himself for speaking out of turn earlier. "For all our sakes, and for the sake of your club, Paul, don't ask any questions about this, okay, and just do what I ask? I'm asking a favour from you now."

Paul relented. "Okay, Dick. I'll do what you ask. But I've never known you to be such a panic. I'll find Jason and re-assign him somewhere, same pay. Maybe the basement, it needs to be cleaned anyway. He'll ask why.

"Just tell him, his supervisor said he got a couple of complaints, and it was an order from Ops. He'll be mad, but he'll accept it. He's doing this for me as a favour for you. He might even just leave the club, if asked." He put his hands on Paul's shoulders, padded them. It was something Dick sometimes did when he was a member of the Bludhaven PD when he really needed something to be done; Paul subjected to it a number of times.

Paul nodded, and then they both went about their respected tasks.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	6. Kiss Him, Not Me

_**CHAPTER SIX**_

 _ **"KISS HIM, NOT ME"**_

Dick Grayson went back to Joker's table and served him and Harley their drinks and fries. Condiments were already on the table. Harley immediately grabbed the salt and doused her fries heavily, then she took the ketchup and mustard, cupped them together, and squirted both all over them. The drinks, at the moment, were forgotten.

If he shared even the smallest dislike with Joker, Dick shared it now as both of them expressed disgust as Harley reached in and took a handful of fries and shoved them into her mouth, covering in globs of ketchup and mustard.

"That is disgusting, Harley," Joker said, sticking out his tongue.

Dick withheld a momentary smile. "I have a brother like that who eats the same way sometimes, never uses a fork." Dick handed Harley several napkins. She waved them off, but he put them on the table next to her.

Joker then remembered his drink and lifted the glass to his lips. "Ah! Delicious, my dear boy; simply divine," he said. "There's nothing more refreshing than liquor after a hard day's work at Financial and Interpersonal Relations."

"You work for a finance group, sir?" Dick obviously knew it was a lie, but he pressed for information. Maybe he could figure out who this "silent partner" was that Joker worked for. Joker was intelligent, but why would he be interested in a nightclub, unless he was partners with someone else who had an even better gain to make?

"Just something I dabble in," Joker said causally. "I'm in charge of a lot of money. I'm the associate to a larger firm." Joker told him the name of the firm and Dick immediately knew it was a front. He'd have to get Tim to check it out later if things went smoothly here and Jason didn't cause any trouble. Hopefully Paul was speaking to him now?

Dick didn't want to ask, but he needed to get more information. So he played it cool. "Who manages the firm, sir? I'm just curious, because I have some money stuffed away and I've been thinking of diversifying my portfolio for later years. We all grow older some time." Dick produced his best innocent fake smile.

"You're only as young as you feel, boy," Joker said with crooked smirk. "But maybe I'll put a bug in his ear about you. He could use an energetic young man like you as a Runner, he has businesses all over Gotham City, and some here in Bludhaven. His name is _Jack Filou_."

Dick swallowed. If he remembered his French, the word _Filou_ was trickster. Batman had figured out that Joker's real first name was "Jack" a long time ago, his last name eluded him. Dick now knew his friend was in bed with the devil in his nightclub, whether he knew it or now. _The Awakening_ may look like a legit business on the outside, but something was rotten at its core. He had to contact Bruce and tell him what was going on.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Harley looking at him strangely and closely, what was known as the "stink-eye". She wiped her mouth, none of her white paint came off. _She must use a special remover_ , Dick thought.

She hadn't touched her Schnapps. He played to the role of innocent server, and asked Harley if her drink was to her liking. But she continued to stare at him, and directly into his eyes — her gaze penetrating and sharp. She ignored the question about the drink, but did say: "God, you look awfully familiar to me. It's those eyes — those baby blue eyes. They're so gorgeous, and I've seen them somewhere before. No one else has such beautiful eyes like that."

Dick couldn't think why Harley would pay attention to his eyes. Whenever he wore a mask, his eyes were behind white shields. They were standard with everyone within the Bat Family now. The masks also connected with the Batcomputer and when called upon provided readouts and two-way communication. Some people asked how they stayed on without any straps; they adhered to the skin with a special bonding agent that was non-abrasive.

Harley snapped her fingers, her eyes wide with revelation. "I got it! I knew I saw you some place before!" She put a hand over his eyes. Dick momentarily panicked. Did she recognize him as Nightwing? "Those clothes don't suit you, sweet-cheeks. I perfect you in a tiny little g-string."

"Huh?" Dick voiced. Even Joker voiced befuddlement.

"I saw your performance — well, I came back repeatedly to see it — at the Ariana Grande Strip Club in lower Gotham. Your name was _The Masked Marauder_ , and you wore a black mask. You hugged that pole like you owned it and wiggled your tight little caboose like no one can. H-O-T! _Hot, hot, hot!_ With that sexy body of yours, you could be making some real money in adult films rather than working in this club!"

Dick let out a breath of relief. Then he smiled. "I didn't think anyone would recognize me," he said. "Yes, I admit it. I did strip at that particular club for a time, but it was only to work my way through law school," he lied.

Joker raised his brow. "You're full of surprises, kid," he said. "Money to burn in financial portfolios and now law school. Quite a diversification, son, and you're working here? I know a distinct attorney who might be want to talk to. He's a little two-sided when it comes to the law, but he knows his stuff. Did you pass the bar exam?"

Dick didn't have to think hard about whom Joker meant. The "two-sided; district attorney" could only be Harvey 'Two-Face' Dent. And if anyone asked him a question about the law, he'd have to consult his special coin. He was always two-minds about every decision. One side of his coin was normal, but the other side was scratched to hell. Like two sides of his personality, Harvey Two-Face Dent was your classic split-personality disorder patient.

"No," he said to Joker's question. "I failed twice. I didn't have the knack. That's why I'm working here. Just started."

"On your second life then, I can admire that. Some people get that chance, but not everyone. I once knew this spoiled, rotten brat, who grew up to he a real jerk; really fowled mouthed, too." That would be Jason, Dick thought. "And every time we encounter each other, he tells me off, like a student who thinks I was the worse teacher in the world. When the kid was younger, I taught him a few things about respect. Obviously, it didn't stick."

Dick held his tongue. _You murdered him, you bastard! Do you what you put Jason through? How he had to crawl out of Hell to live again? I bet if Jason knew you were here, he'd beat your brains in, you son-of-a-bitch!_

Joker shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well… _C'est la vie,_ as the French say," he said, as if the whole _Jason Affair_ meant nothing to him, then took another sip of his Bourbon.

Dick suddenly flinched, and he quickly jerked, forward, turned and looked at Harley. She had somehow shifted in her seat without him noticing, and had just felt his butt. "Rock solid," she said. "There was a no-touch policy in that strip club, but there's nothing like that here, sugar-pie." She smiled at him. "I wonder what the other side looks like. Maybe later on, you can give me a private striptease show, honey? I'll pay for it, and I'll make it worth your while."

Dick wondered how many complaints the other Servers got with sexual related incidents? But he let it slide. _Don't make the psychopath angry._

"Oh, stop flirting with him, Harley," Joker said, not quite annoyed but a little jaunted. "He's obviously not interested, or he can't get involved with you — he's working. In fact, I think you frighten him." Joker chuckled.

Harley fluttered her eyes. Unlike his Nightwing mask, her eyes were exposed, encircled within her mask. "Aww…Do I frighten you, Server #17? You wouldn't be scared if you really got to know me." Then she waved him off. "Psst! You're too cute anyway. These days, guys like you are either taken or don't like girls. Times have really changed." Harley scooted back over to Joker, cupped his arm. "Mr. J is a real man, a man's man."

Joker smiled. "That's right, and I used to be married once, but she didn't like me much, so I had to divorce her after the accident." The accident that turned him into his current appearance, Dick wagered. He gave Dick a hard glare, as if a father was about to ask a serious question of his son. One of vital importance to ensue his stature within the family or be disowned. "Do you like men, son?" Joker asked curiously, hinting about Dick's sexuality based on his appearance and Harley's suspicions.

Dick's whole face went ashen. _No, I don't_ , he was about to say, when Paul came from around the corner. Dick gave his friend a quick glance, and with a shake of his head; the signal was clear he hadn't found Jason. Paul came to stand next to Dick, the booth drowning out most of the ambient noise with the special soundproofing walls.

"Hey Hudson," Joker then turned his attention to Paul, "you're one of them, someone who doesn't like girls, right?"

Calling Paul one of them was insulting, even in Dick's eyes, but with Joker, the comment had to slide.

"I'm gay, yes, sir," Paul replied. "Is there something I can help with?" he then said, ignoring the personal question, but regarding the service.

"Why? What's the attraction? I don't see it."

Paul looked at Dick — the look he gave to Dick was, "What brought this conversion on?" Dick shrugged — then he turned back. Paul replied, "I was born this way, there's nothing wrong which whom or what I like. I'm not flamboyant as some other people, but I like people who share my own interests. Gender is a term, a label — that's all it is. At one point, being gay was a taboo, even a criminal offence according to certain social, religious groups, but now it's accepted, and even praised. Not everyone has to like the way I conduct my life, but I don't care."

"Do you go to strip clubs?" Harley asked. "What kind of guys do you like? Call it an informational question."

Paul looked uncomfortable. But Dick could tell his friend was thinking about the question and whether or not he should answer. Paul was a guy shy guy, Dick knew, but if something was important, he'd voice his opinion. Suddenly he found his voice, "Well, to be honest, guys like…him." He turned to Dick. "The athletic, and yet book smart type."

 _An honest answer_ , Dick thought. Paul did ask him out when they were in the Bludhaven PD when he first came out. But he told his friend that he wasn't interested.

Harley said, "I have this wild fantasy where two guys kiss, make it happen." And suddenly, her hand disappeared below the table, then returned, and she produced the smallest pistol Dick had ever seen, one shot. She coveted it under her gloved hand, but obviously the threat was there. "Do it, or one of you gets a bullet in the lower region, if you know what I mean, and neither one of you will be able to have kids, ever!"

Paul gasped, Dick's eyes widened, as they snapped a look at the other. Joker said he didn't want to see it and put a hand over his eyes, but did say they better give her what she wanted; she wasn't kidding about shooting someone.

"I don't care who starts, but somebody better kiss somebody," she said, "on the lips, for at least ten-seconds. Go!"

This request went beyond Paul's instruction of catering to a guests' every whim, even to the so-called associate to his special partner, that now Dick knew was a farce. But if Harley started shooting, all hell would brake loose, and what if Joker had a gun, as well? There were no metal-detectors in the nightclub. Joker could also have other men stationed within the club disgusted as guests if something went wrong.

So, Dick was an impasse. And yet, who would it hurt? In his own history, he never once even thought about kissing another man. Some men acted to a curiosity and some men were bone straight, but when he looked at Harley, and knowing her history, she meant what she said. Dick Grayson protected people, he didn't put them in harms away. And there were over fifteen-hundred people that could be hurt if he didn't do this one simple thing to ease tensions. It would satisfy Harley enough and no one would care. Besides, no one was looking in this direction.

Paul looked at him, lightly shook his head. He knew Dick didn't want this.

But Dick plunged in anyway.

He grabbed Paul by the sides of the head and planted a kiss directly onto his friend's lips, and to make it appear more convincing-like, to satisfy Harley's unusual request, he moved his mouth around to get moisture. Paul's eyes widened with shock and he made a protest noise; their eyes locked, Dick made a reply noise, telling him not to pull away, and to go with it, even though it was forced upon them both.

She had to be persuaded to put the pistol away, Dick knew.

Dick had kissed a great many girls in his time, but this was the first guy. He didn't want to compare, but he used past experience to add the right amount of pressure to his friend's lips to give Paul a realistic sensation. Paul at first resisted, but then relented and accepted Dick's lips and reciprocated. He couldn't help it, and cupped his own hands around Dick's head, and kissed him with passion, like a lover would before, during, or even after the act of sex.

Paul pressed his lips harder. He was liking this too much, Dick knew, and he tried to brake away, but Paul wouldn't let him. His friend had fallen deep into the moment and because Paul had originally asked him out years before when they were in the BPD, this must have been a dream come true for him. It was a _Kiss Him, Not Me_ moment.

Paul was a good kisser, Dick couldn't deny that. And all of sudden, Paul's tongue slipped in Dick's mouth. Now Dick made a protest noise, but went with it to avoid suspicion he wasn't liking it—Paul was not obviously making it "convincing-like" for Harley. What would Barbara think if she saw this?

When they finally broke the kiss, a string of spittle bridged their lips, and Paul's face looked flushed, his eyes glassy. He panted, his temperature obviously up. Dick wanted to wipe his mouth of the moisture, but he felt it would then send a negative signal to Harley, and it might set her off. It was best to think both enjoyed it.

Harley waved a hand over his face like a fan. "Oh boy, that was good! _Hubba, hubba!_ One of my fantasies finally came true. I'm all a flutter. You two should do movies. You two passed my test. I wasn't sure about you," —she looked to Dick. "You were starting to sound a bit phoney shomney to me, and I can tell, with all this, 'I only stripped to become a lawyer crap, and now I work in a night club'…and after that, you're not straight. No straight guy accepts that much tongue if he doesn't like it. I know now I need to work harder. I see I have some stiff competition. And I do mean stiff."

Dick looked down and saw Paul's excitement, the front of his trousers bulged. Had his act been that convincing?

"Hows about the two of you join me for a workout session after the club closes? I might even turn one of you to my side of the pond?"

Joker lowered his hand. "Okay, Harley, I think that's quite enough. I feel like dancing, wanna join me?"

"After what I just saw, I'm willing for anything. It will be my honour, Mr. J."

And the two left their seats and headed off to the dance floor where they seemingly blended in with the crowd.

Paul put his hands to his face in what looked like shame. Dick looked at his friend, and asked if he was okay?

He sat down, the music was quieter in the booth. Dick sat across from him. "I'm so sorry, Dick. That was so wrong. I feel like I raped you. For that to happen was against so many rules. And for me to get so excited."

For a moment, Dick thought back to a case as Nightwing. He knew a thing or two about being raped, this didn't even come close. During one case, this crazy villainess who called herself Tarantula did the unthinkable and he was subjected to her sexual whims. It was a dark time for him. And other than a close few, he had told no one about it.

Dick reached across the table and put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hey, it's not a big deal. Don't worry about it. I'm actually flattered." Dick laughed. "I know you've wanted to kiss me from the minute you came out to me. Was it everything you dreamed? I've never kissed a guy before. You're my first." Dick smiled, understandingly.

Paul looked at him, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Thank you, Dick," he said, "for not hating me. I'll make it up to you, I promise. This was not what intended or thought would happen when I asked you to work at the club tonight."

"Once again, Paul, it's no a big deal. We had to make it convincing for Harley." Dick didn't want to say it was just a kiss, because in Paul's eyes, it was probably meant much more than that. So, he left it at that.

"You're a good kisser," Paul remarked. "I bet all the girls love you!"

Dick laughed. "You have no idea; too many, in fact," he said with a large grin.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	7. Codeword

_**CHAPTER SEVEN**_

 _ **"CODEWORD"**_

Jason's muscles tightened as Cassidy's cries overwhelmed his sensations. She was known for her strength and it showed, her body was well defined and her flexibility would rival Grayson's. They were in the back alley behind a large garbage dumpster and it hid them from sight as they engaged in their act.

Cassidy knew where all the cameras were positioned and this was a blind spot. They also switched off their earpieces so they wouldn't be heard. It was an immediate attraction when they first meet they later both admitted and after Cassidy cupped Jason's butt and complemented it, he had had a feeling that it would eventually come to this, albeit not so soon.

For someone who first refuted his advances, Cassidy came on strong, and when it came to the four hour mark—they both took their break together—they found a secluded spot and immediately got down to business.

Cassidy had made the first move when they exited into the back alley, grabbing Jason and pushing him hard against the wall, kissing him intensely. He bumped his head when he hit, but the kiss took away the sudden sharp thud of pain, making it almost pleasurable, and so did when her hand reached down the front of his trousers.

Soon after that, their belts unbuckled, and it went from there.

Cassidy wrapped her arms around Jason's shoulders, interlocking her hands behind his head to give her stability. Jason lifted and held her legs up and engaged. There was no foreplay, no innocent kissing, they just got down to it—hard, hot and heavy. And Cassidy gave the orders.

She was like a woman he had not had sex in quite some time. Jason figured because she acted so "butch" that most men were afraid of her and that warded them off. But she was just his type, strong and beautiful.

He was awestruck that this was happening. When he agreed to work tonight, it had just been for just the money. But now he had met this beautiful woman and he was having sex with her in the back alley of a prominent nightclub. Not making love, but having sex. There was a difference. If that wasn't every man's dream, then he didn't know what was.

Sweat dripped down Jason's face. Cassidy had flung his cap off the moment she had taken hold of him. She said she loved his two-tone, wild hair. He pressed harder, faster, and then slowed, then increased once more, calculating, and delivering an orgasmic pleasure that made her scream out with pleasurable cries.

It wasn't the first time he had pleasured a woman, and most often, he had taken it slow in the past, because they all said he looked mean when they first met. He wanted to show them his sensitive side—great advise from Dick Grayson, who was a casanova with women. Women loved a sensitive man. But Cassidy was different, she was a beast, and he threw all that advise out the window for the immediate moment. She'd have nothing of it. Cassidy had initiated everything, from beginning, and if she was to continue to have her way, to the very end, and he catered to her whims—which didn't disappoint.

They could hear the band playing in the background, inside. It was muffled, but it was an upbeat interpretative version of an old Michael Jackson hit song called: " _The Way You Make Me Feel_ ".

 _The way you make me feel, (band leader)_  
 _(The way you make me feel), (chorus singers)_  
 _You really turn me good,_  
 _(You really turn me good),_  
 _You knock me off of my feet, now,_  
 _(You knock me off my feet, now)_  
 _Baby—_

 _Almost there…_ he thought.

It almost made him laugh that she could be this aggressive. She had said she could show him things that someone would only see in an S&M adult movie. At the time, he thought she was joking, but right now, she was not only showing him some of those things, she was performing them. Obviously she was very experienced in her ways.

They had established a "codeword" to shout out if anything got too rough or kinky, a safe word. But neither one of them had said it yet. And Jason probably knew neither one of them would say it anyway. Since Cassidy kept saying, or rather shouting: " _Yes!_ " —basically that was their shared codeword, as it stood.

 _Oh, yes…_ Jason agreed.

Jason obeyed her commands, she was, after all, his shadow supervisor for the night, and she knew exactly what she wanted. Playfully thinking, disobeying her commands could get him fired.

But he also allowed his sensations to guide his actions, giving precedence to his movements, using experience to pleasure Cassidy in the most defining ways, deploying his own developed techniques honed over the years with a variety of women he had shared his life with. Some methods were experimental and some were self-taught. And he had watched a few videos to get pointers from "the experts"—part of Roy's vast collection of adult films.

No wonder the guy was a little screwed up inside, Jason thought. Roy's collection was vast, and they were even categorized into different sections, and some were just too weird for him. He had read a few romance novels for other ideas, too. But the only thing he got was turned on by the authors detail to form.

He felt it. He was almost there!

With his teeth clenched, he could feel his muscles tighter than ever before. He could feel Cassidy's breasts pressed against his chest underneath her shirt; they felt firm and buxom, which stimulated him even more. And as held on tight, she demanded more and more, screaming for even more.

" _Yes, yes…oh…yes!…_ "

Then—

They both clutched each other tightly for the climax, and then exhaled deeply after a collective release. When it was over, Jason hugged her tight for a moment, and then let Cassidy down easy. They broke away saturated with sweat. They had discarded their trousers and underwear long before the act.

They kissed, and smiled, and looked into each other's glassy eyes.

"That was incredible, I bet you were saving that up?" Cassidy chuckled. "Sorry I called you thunder thighs earlier, your thighs are perfect. I think for now on I should call you thunder c…$%^."

Jason snickered. "I like it. Best nickname ever!"

Jason had to admit, he had been a little tense, sexually. Ever since that unexpected kissing instance with Roy in the Bat Cave—Roy had come onto him; he said he was a "man of many tastes"—Jason hadn't been able to hook up with woman, even for a causal encounter to shake the emotions be felt. He didn't know how he felt after the fact. His Red Hood duties kept taking point and his personal life took a back seat. He wanted to talk to Roy about what had happened, but he couldn't drum up enough courage to do so—it was an uncomfortable subject. Roy, nonetheless unaffected by the incident, carried on as Arsenal as if nothing happened.

Now with this, Jason felt like his old himself again. His sexual confusion and conflict up in smoke. He still cursed Roy. He was glad no one else knew about that incident and he managed to erase all video footage of it on the Bat Cave CCTV system before anyone viewed it. When he viewed it, it had an up-and-close, almost erotic, adult triple X view of their kiss, with all the sensual detail. It gave him both the shivers and the chills, both in a good and bad way.

He gave a crooked smile. "You were good, too. And yes…oh yes…I needed that. Thank you." He made it sound as if he was a virgin kid and she was an experienced woman. He immediately blushed after saying it, embarrassed.

She laughed. "I could get pregnant, you know."

"Not likely," he said, picking up his clothes. He started to get dressed and made sure to dust off his black cap before putting it back on. Cassidy also dressed. "First, I'm not father material. And second, my boys don't dance."

Cassidy blinked, shocked, as she stuffed her shirt back into her trousers and buckled her belt. "You mean, you're sterile? How did that happen," she asked, broaching the subject carefully, "if you don't mind me asking?"

"I died, and a lot of things died with me. Including the part of my humanity able to reproduce," he said honestly.

She chuckled short. "Oh, you joker," she said.

Jason's stopped short for a moment, face straightened, as he slipped on his trousers. She didn't mean what she said, he knew, she had no way of knowing what the Joker did to him. If she did, she wouldn't have said that to him.

He decided to put the whole truth out there. "No truly; when I was a kid, I was beaten with a crowbar to within an inch of my life by some sadistic clown. Before that, my parents were murdered by a mobster who had split-personality disorder. And in between those events, I was adopted by an over-bearing, controlling, social-philanthropist, who had an unhealthy affinity towards night vigilantism. Now, I do my own thing. And I love every minute of it."

She seemed frozen to the spot, unsure whether he was being truthful. "And, what do yo do now?" she asked slowly.

Jason remained straight-faced for a moment, the truth had obviously unnerved her. He then broke out laughing. "I'm kidding, Cassidy," he then said, lying. He gently cradled her face within his hands. "Sometimes I say crazy things to judge people's reactions." He knew she wouldn't understand his life, so he had to give her another story. "I got kicked by a mule. I was visiting an animal farm when I was a kid and got too close to one. You know the old saying: curiosity killed the cat; or get to close to a pissed off mule, and get kicked in the balls. Truthfully, I can't have kids."

She looked at him strange. "Why is it, the first story you told me sounds more believable?"

Jason's eyes softened, he then kissed her on lips. _You'd never understand, Cassidy. And I'm legally dead. You just had sex with a dead man._ "C'mon, I think our brake is over. Boss is probably wondering where we are," he said. 

**x x x**

Dick Grayson called into "Ops" and informed them his clients were dancing and asked if he could take a few minutes break, after Paul had left to find Jason. Ops authorized his break, but said if he was needed, he was inclined to immediately return to his duties. Dick agreed, went back to the locker room, retrieved his cell phone, and then headed down a long hallway, and out into the back alley, where two large garbage dumpsters were stationed.

Here he dialled a private number to the Bat Cave, as he removed the club earpiece so there was no unauthorized eavesdropping. The last thing he wanted was anyone learning a well-kept secret.

Within one rang, Tim picked up. The teen must have been monitoring the Batcomputer like he normally did.

"Hey Dick, so how's the club? Get any pretty girls' phone numbers?" He said light-heartedly with a chuckle.

"Yeah, and her name is Harley Quinn," Dick said, not laughing. "She and Joker are at the club. Alert Status Orange."

Alert Status Orange was the current code-phrase to inform the entire Bat Family of potential danger, but to remain on stand-by. Every time anyone went out on patrol, a codeword or code-phrase was thought up for instantaneous alert. As Dick didn't think there would be any danger at the club, no codeword was thought up. But Alert Status' were static.

Dick heard typing on the other end, and then the sound of rustling as if hair being brushed from a microphone. Dick knew the teen needed a haircut. He'd tell the teen later. Lately, Tim had been wearing his complete head shroud that covered all but the lower part of his face. Jason once remarked Tim looked like a human condom. Tim didn't take highly to that, but refused to change his look. Besides, the teen didn't want to cut his hair, and the shroud held it in.

"I'll alert Bruce and Damian," Tim replied back. "They're currently training in the War Room. What has Joker done?"

That was the thing, the _Clown Prince of Crime_ hadn't done anything to jeopardize the club, yet. In fact, he was acting like any normal clubber. Dick told Tim what had happened so far, and that he was currently observing them.

There was silence on the other end for a moment. "He hasn't done anything?" He hadn't assaulted anyone, hadn't maimed anyone, hadn't threatened to kill anyone, hadn't committed any robbery. In fact, he hadn't threatened the club in anyway, Dick told Tim. "Then what's he doing there? And with Harley?" Tim asked with strange curiosity.

"If you can believe it, at the moment, he's dancing with Harley. I can't understand why no one is afraid of him. He's well known in both Gotham and Bludhaven is only across the harbour. He has to be known here, too?"

Dick heard more typing, fast and furious. "I'm tracing this call. This is a private line. If you're not who you claim to be—and, if I recall, you never did say who you were, I just assumed you were you by the number—then I'll send someone out to find you, and make you pay for this crank call."

Dick took the phone from his ear, looked at it dumbfounded. Then returned it. "Tim! It's _me!_ Dick Grayson!"

"Skill testing question: What was the name of your brother in The Flying Grayson's?"

"Tim, this is _ridiculous!_ You're beginning to act like Damian. His name was Mitch, Mitch Grayson."

"Correct. Next question: What is my middle name?"

"Would you like an honest answer, or would you like to be called something Damian would say?" Dick said annoyed. When Tim didn't answer, Dick then said, "Jackson. Your middle name is Jackson—Timothy Jackson Drake. But after you were officially adopted by Bruce, you hyphenate it to Drake-Wayne, or when you're at some political function or want a private table at some restaurant, you just go with Timothy Wayne."

"Okay, correct again. Final question: What is my favourite energy drink?"

"I swear, I'll slap you if you spring anymore questions on me after this one. Your favourite energy drink is Red Bull," Dick answered. "And when you don't have any of that, you flavour your coffee with nutmeg. Are we done?"

"Um, yeah, sorry Dick, I had to be sure, and as we talked I ran a voice-analyzer on you — everything checks out."

"When I get back to the Minor, I'm going to "check-you-out", Tim. Now, back to what I was saying. I'm observing Joker and Harley. Tell Bruce and Damian, but there's no emergency yet."

"Roger."

Dick ended the call short. "That kid needs some serious downtime from that damn computer," he said to himself. _And maybe a date with his pillow for a good twenty-four hours, those energy drinks will harm him one day._

The next thing Dick had to do was tread lightly when he told Jason about Joker and Harley. Otherwise, Jason would go in with guns-blazing, per se. They had brought their costumes, stored them in a secret compartment in the back of Dick's Sedan, with arsenal and weapons, but if he could afford a more diplomatic end to things, that would be best.

Dick turned on his earpiece. "Ops — This is Server Number Seventeen. This may sound like an unorthodox request, but may I speak with Bouncer…" Damn, what was Jason's call number again? He was on an open channel, all the other Floor Servers could hear him. But right now, he didn't care. It was important. "Um, the new guy…"

"Stand-by, Server Number Seventeen," a male voice in Ops replied. "Reason for request?"

Yes, what was the reason for his request? _Oh, to hell with it—_ "He's my brother, Jason. Paul Hudson hired us both tonight for one night because you were short staffed. It's urgent, I need to speak with him, please."

"Stand-by," the voice said, and there was a momentary silence on the line. "Bouncer #5 isn't answering," the voice came back. "His earpiece seems to be switched off. I'm alerting Boss. This is irregular and against the rules of employment. No one is to ever switch off their earpiece unless permission is granted."

There was another moment of silence.

"Understood," the voice said, although Dick didn't think it was response to anything he had said. The voice spoke again, "Bouncer #4 last saw him, but she's unaware of his current location."

"Ok, thanks. When he reports back in, tell him I need to speak with him immediately," Dick said.

"Understood. Ops out."

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	8. Odd Behaviour

_**CHAPTER EIGHT**_

 _ **"ODD BEHAVIOUR"**_

The moment Dick Grayson left the back alley and re-entered the club, Jason punched the side of the metal garbage dumpster he had been standing behind. He and Cassidy had left to continue her shifts, but then he left to use the washroom, but instead of returning to his duties, he then came out in the alley again to have a smoke alone.

And it was here that he had heard everything Dick had said to Tim about Joker and Harley being inside the club.

"Damn you, Dick Grayson!" he cursed.

Jason and Joker had a long history and none of it was good. The villain murdered Jason when he a young boy under the guise of Robin, beating him with a crowbar, and then set the warehouse he was in on fire, leaving Jason to die. And indeed, Jason did die, and was given a burial. But he later learned his body was stolen by a sinister group called the League of Assassins (the same group Damian once heralded from) and he was resurrected using an ancient healing pool called the _Lazarus Pit_ , deep in the snowy mountains of Switzerland.

After his rebirth, he went basically nuts and ran away screaming. On his own, he lived on the streets, fended for himself and developed survival skills that later lead him to adopt Joker's old persona The Red Hood, and became a _vigilante for justice_. He did what Batman refused to do, and broke his cardinal rule. Jason eliminated criminals by any means necessary. Sending them away to jail was useless, they'd just get out again, and repeat their old ways. The only way to get them off the streets was by way of permanent elimination — _to kill them!_

When he came face-to-face with Batman once more in later years as the Red Hood, not only did his adopted father beat the crap out of him and gave Jason the scolding of his life, but then, even more shocking, he hugged him, and welcomed him back into the family, but only on the promise of rehabilitation, and some prison time.

During his incarceration and under strict supervision by the Warden and from afar Bruce Wayne, suicides in the prison mysteriously went up. From Robin to full blown badass, he ruled the prison with an iron fist, without causing chaos. In fact, his stay kept the prison orderly. And for his "good deeds", Jason was released early, and Bruce became his probation officer.

With his criminal record not exactly expunged but renown, the Red Hood continued his vigilante ways for good. Jason acted with more restraint, more consciousness, and on an orderly level — mainly under Batman's guidance. If he was to stay within the Bat Family, he was to adhere to a set of rules, to think before acting, weighing all the consequences of his actions, and foremost, the most important one of them, was to follow Batman's cardinal rule.

Joker was a complete psychopath, and every time they clashed over the years, the two tried to kill the other. So, storming back into the club, and attacking Joker, was not an option. It would jeopardize too many people.

He silently screamed too himself. He wanted so much to do what Joker had done to him all those years ago.

He had to find Dick and get the whole story. Why Joker was here, and why, for heaven's sake was the psycho dancing, and not shooting up the joint? It didn't make sense. And why was there a strange calmness within the club?The citizens of Bludhaven must know who Joker and Harley are? He felt it now and it was unnerving. There was something odd about the place, and Dick's friend was at the centre of it.

He had turned off his earpiece, now he switched it back on, and immediately the voice of the Operations Manager, Steve, Jason thought his name was, shouted for him. "Bouncer #5, report in. _Acknowledge!_ "

 _Ow!_ His ear stung from the shout. "Bouncer #5, acknowledging," Jason said.

"Where have you been?" Steve demanded. "We have been trying to reach you for a while. People are out searching for you. You've broken protocol by going silent. Boss is very unhappy with you right now!"

"Must be this damn earpiece," Jason lied, thinking fast. "I was told in the beginning when it was given to me the battery was running low, too many of them and not enough chargers. Ask Boss, he can verify it." But, of course, his earpiece was fully charged when he received it. Jason had an uncanny ability to habitual lie. Boss chimed it, listening in, and he confirmed what Jason had said could be true, but the earpiece shouldn't have gone dead like that, and if there was even the hint of a problem, it should've been reported immediately. "Sure, I understand that," he responded to Boss. "Where can I get another earpiece? I want to get on with my duties."

"You can get a replacement at the bar, one will be in readiness for you, fully charged," Steve said. "For the next time, Bouncer #5, use common sense, be vigilant, and report any transmission problems when they first occur."

"Sure, thanks," Jason said.

The moment he went back into the club, he gave a passing glance to Cassidy who smiled at him as she passed by the bar on her floor patrols, the picked up his new earpiece. He had every intention of returning to his duties, but he had to find Dick first, and get accounts of Joker's visit here first hand from him.

 **x x x**

"Server #17, Bouncer #5 has reset communications with the network," came a voice in Dick's earpiece. "Apparently he had a bad connection. He's currently at the bar. Do you still wish to speak with him?"

"No, I'll go to him," Dick replied, cupping his hands over his ears, so the communication came in clearer with the loud music, "besides, my clientele remain occupied dancing together on the floor."

He went to head to the bar, but stopped, turned, and watched Joker and Harley dance to their own rhyme. A crowd had circled around the pair and he had to admit the villain had some nice moves. Very little was known about Joker before his criminal career, so the man may have been fluent in several dances before or during his long career.

The one true thing Joker had said earlier was that he was at once married. But no one knew to whom or where she ended up. Morbidly thinking, she probably ended up dead and buried or thrown into the river. She probably knew too much about him, so she was liability, like crime fighters. A secret identity was essential to avoid family issues, like criminals taking them hostage and ransoming them off for blackmail.

Suddenly, he felt something, a calmness he hadn't felt before, and it eased his troubles when it came to the criminal pair. There was a hypnotic vibe flowing throughout the club. As he looked around, everyone seemed to feel it, and danced with a togetherness, an almost playfulness, and a non-worrisome tone. He couldn't believe he hadn't sensed it before. Perhaps it was his instincts honed over so many years to stay alert. But now, they took second string, and his body began to move to the music. And, who'd thought that a man who dressed like a clown had moves like Jagger?

He didn't feel as stressed anymore. Maybe Joker was just here to have fun? To remove himself from his criminal ways for one night, like anyone who wanted to leave their troubles behind. It was obvious the clubbers accepted Joker and Harley has one of their own, no one was afraid of him, and they cheered and clapped the pair on. And he was one step away from joining them. But then he remembered himself and headed to the bar to meet Jason.

Jason sat at the end of the bar, a black cap pushed lower over his face to disguise himself. He had said earlier than his supervisor had given it to him to disguise his two-tone hair style. When Dick reached him, he had an incredulous look on his face. He obviously knew by watching them, that Joker and Harley were here.

Both removed their earpieces for a private conversion and made sure no bartenders were near-by.

"Having fun, Dick? I saw you swinging your body to the beat. Have anything to share with me?" He pointed at the dancing couple. "You should really pick better hiding spots to have private conversions." And Jason told him he had been behind one of the large garbage dumpsters in the back alley having a smoke at the time and heard Dick's side of the conversion with Tim. "So, why's the psychopath and his nutty girlfriend doing here?"

"Joker claims to be the associate to Paul's silent partner, a person called Jack Filou. Obviously a fake name. Filou in French is Trickster." Jason nodded, he spoke several languages fluently including French. But Jason wondered if, albeit it sounding fake, that silent partner could be real. He had to remind Dick that both Mr. Freeze and Scarecrow had mysterious benefactors funding their crimes that still remained unknown. "True," Dick replied to Jason's theory. "That is a possibility, but knowing Joker, he's up to something solely. But Paul seems to think he's okay."

"Then your friend needs his head examined," Jason said flatly.

Dick looked back at Joker and Harley, and seemed to smile. Jason saw Dick's face, it was an almost admiration for the dancing pair. Jason's eyes narrowed with confusion as Dick's body swung with the beat of the music—it was odd behaviour for Dick, Jason thought. Dick should have been tense with both Joker and Harley in attendance, but he looked relaxed like he had too many drinks. He put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "You okay, Dick?"

"Yeah," Dick said, without turning around. "I just wish Barbara was here. Look at them" —he pointed at Joker and Harley— "not a care in the world. They seem to be enjoying the moment. I remember when Barbara and I had that innocence. We'd dance to all sorts of music, all night, and then, well… We'd 'dance', if you know what I mean?" Dick's body waved from side-to-side. "They have rhythm, like two lovers dancing the night away."

His hand was still on Dick's shoulder and Jason gave it a hard squeeze. Dick cringed, quickly knocking it off, turned around, but it was enough to shake him out of his semi-trance. "What was that for?" Dick sounded angry.

"You were zoning out. Look, this place is cool and all, but something's wrong. I can feel it."

Dick nodded. He blinked his eyes. "Yeah, sorry, I don't know what came over me," he said. "I've noticed something odd about the club, too, but I can't put my finger on it. More investigation needs to be done."

"Has he seen you?" Jason asked.

"You probably weren't told because the Server and Bouncer frequencies are separated, but I was assigned Joker's personal server. He doesn't seem to know who I am, but Harley recognized me when I stripteased at that club that time, as the Masked Marauder. She was apparently in attendance at some of the shows out of costume. But neither one of them seemingly know who I am really am at the moment."

"Good, let's hope it stays that way. But the moment he sees me, he'll freak!"

"That's why you need to stay out of sight. You'll lucky he hasn't seen you already. I spoke to Paul, and I asked him to reassign you, somewhere. I didn't tell him the reason. But now you know Joker is here, you need to stay calm. Don't attack him, don't go near him. Stay in the shadows and avoid his line of sight. He and Harley have the VIP booth."

Jason looked annoyed. He had already established that he needed to remain calm, but Dick acting like the annoying big brother just got under his skin. "Yeah, sure," he said. Since Dick had already spoken to Tim, it was a safe bet that Bruce already knew about Joker being here.

Just then, the band switched the music up and established a more energetic tempo, first with drums, then with an guitar string-beat. And the crowd started to cheer and clap. Jason thought he recognized the song, it was something from the 1970s — something from a music group called Boney M. "Rasputin", he thought. It was also part of an oldies collection Dick had burned for him a few days ago, classic disco oldies. He just happened to remember the song.

Joker then began to jump around like some sort of jack rabbit, laughing like a madman, and Jason suddenly thought he was in a bazaar, alternative universe.

Then Dick started to clap to the beat as if memorized by the music and atmosphere, and moved away from the bar. Jason reached and tried to haul him back, but his hand missed, and Dick made his way into the crowd, joining the throng of people who had apparently surrounded the dancing fool of the evening.

 _What the hell is going on?_ Jason thought.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	9. The Bat Family Alerted

_**CHAPTER NINE**_

 _ **"THE BAT FAMILY ALERTED"**_

Tim Drake typed furiously at the Batcomputer. The moment the call ended with Dick, he immediately got to work sifting through the internet for information about The Awakening nightclub, background information on Dick's friend, Paul Hudson, and any and all association past and present. But despite all his avenues, he raised no red flags. According to all records, the nightclub was clean, and so was Paul Hudson.

He couldn't get everything, not everything regarding financial information and internal information was online, but what he could get, the majority of what he needed to make a conclusion, the club was legitimate. But Joker and Harley being at the club was not.

Why were the pair at the club? And who was the mysterious financial backer, this silent partner? Yes, the name _Jack Filou_ (Tricker, in French) did sound like a fake name, but the fifteen digit business Inc number was real, and Tim traced it to a bank in the Caribbean. Other than that, he couldn't get anything else about the benefactor.

Based on the information he could get, the club was built twelve years ago by its previous owner and for five years was a staple in the Bludhaven entertainment district, until it fell on some hard times, as if the novelty wore off. It closed down and filed for bankruptcy. There was nothing suspicious about that. He found records in Bludhaven City and financial archives, even its Chapter 11 papers to confirm it. The previous owner even checked out.

For six years, it stayed a hovel, an empty shell, until the club was purchased by Paul Hudson & Assoc., Dick's friend's company, with the help of his silent partner, and redeveloped. Renovations began soon afterwards at great expense and it was up-graded to everything new and modern. All permits checked out, the inspectors, and all the staff that now currently work in the club were clean. Tim conducted a lot of research in such a short time. He knew what to look for and what was redundant information, writing parameters in the Batcomputer for key things what he needed.

According to media outlets, the club had a raving opening night premier with lots of fanfare. Paul Hudson put a lot of money into advertising, and since day one, the club had seen continued success. But something gnawed in the back of Tim's mind, everything seemed too perfect, too clean, and with Joker and Harley—there had to be something? So he had to keep looking, he was missing something — Paul had no association with Joker previously. Why now?

Tim leaned back in his chair as Bruce and Damian exited an adjacent chamber of the Bat Cave, and they approached the lower tier of the Batcomputer. Dozens of windows were opened and displayed on its multitude of screens, the main screen displayed the main data feed Tim was using to view the largest chuck of his research. They were still wearing their exercise gear, they had been engaged in one-on-one combat in the War Room. Bruce had been training Damian, giving him more tricks of the trade.

Damian exhaled, the boy was drenched in sweat, and with a single whiff, Tim could tell the kid needed a shower. Bruce wasn't as bad, but a shower would do him some good as well.

"Hard lesson, I take it?" Tim asked, turning his chair. "I can smell the both of you from a mile away."

Without proof of any wrong doing, Tim played the situation light-heartedly, and didn't inform them of Dick's call. There wasn't anything to tell them, other than the villainous pair were at The Awakening nightclub. If he told Bruce, Tim knew he and Damian would immediate race out and storm the club. Dick said to remain on stand-by. Joker and Harley hadn't done anything yet. He'd wait for another call to determine if action was warranted; judgment call.

"So, what are working on now?" Damian asked, wiping the back of his neck with a towel.

Bruce also had a towel draped around his neck. Bruce gave a quick glance to the main screen before Tim reached over and pressed a button to minimize all windows. "Isn't that the club Dick and Jason are working at tonight?" he inquired. He gave Tim a suspicious look. "Tim, what's going on? Is something wrong? I saw the screen, you were looking into the club's financial records and personal data files."

Tim sighed. There was no point in denying it now. He turned, maximized all windows again. "I'm not sure." And he told them about Dick's phone call. "Joker and Harley haven't done anything yet, they're just dancing. That's what Dick said."

Bruce's face turned dark. "Tim, why didn't you tell me about this before? How long have you known about this?"

Tim looked at Bruce, gulped nervously. "A little more than an hour," he said, looking abashed. "Dick said to remain on stand-by. He says he doesn't want any trouble at the club. If anything happens, he'd call back for assistance."

Bruce whipped his towel to the floor angry.

Damian grabbed the ends of his towel as if to hang on, he gave Tim a sideways look of disgust as if he did something horrible, then looked at the main screen. "That's not like Grayson, especially with Todd there," Damian said. "With Joker and Quinn, he knows the pair are wildly dangerous when provoked. To tell us to stand-by is bizarre…" He looked back at Bruce as if for confirmation. "Does Grayson have a screw loose?"

"He certainly has some explaining to do," Bruce remarked, then pointed at Tim, "and you and I need to have a little talk about importance. Any time Joker is involved, I am to be immediately appraised. Especially if Jason is near."

Tim nodded. "Yes, sir," he said.

— _Tt_ — Damian smacked his lips, shook his head. "For shame, Drake," he said.

"Don't talk down to me, Damian. I was only following Dick's orders."

"You should use more personal discretion like Father says."

"Damian!" this came from Bruce as a stern order to stop antagonizing Tim.

Just then, an alert came on the screen in the form of a phone call from Jason. An icon of an old rotatory telephone appeared on the bottom right side of the screen, Tim's idea. Tim immediately answered it, putting it on speaker.

"Hey Tim, that you?" Tim said yes. "Good," Jason said. He explained about the club having a policy about workers leaving their cells in lockers so they weren't distracted, but being Jason, he had ignored the rule. They could hear music in the background. "Something odd is happening at the club. I can smell it like a bloodhound, the air is fowl here, figuratively speaking. Obviously Dick told you about Joker and Harley, but something strange just occurred…"

"We gathered that from Dick's call about an hour ago," Tim replied to the first remark. "What just occurred?"

Bruce chimed in. "Jason, this is Bruce. Describe the scene for us."

"I'm sitting here at the end of the bar watching Dick dance like some sort of deranged teenager. At first, everything was okay, the club was bust-a-moving, but now it's turned into some sort of crazy mosh pit. He's not himself…Dick's stripteasing, like that time he did in — Okay, that's not pleasant." He described further what was occurring, and that Dick had removed all his clothes expect for a speedo, but he had momentarily exposed his butt to the crowd. They had cheered, but the Bouncers and Security were not stopping it. "This is getting out of hand, Bruce."

"That is not like Grayson at all," Damian voiced shocked. "Is he under the influence of something?"

"My thoughts exactly, short-stack," Jason replied, he spoke more loudly with another song just introduced. "But I have no idea what. No drugs are allowed in the club and Dick doesn't drink. We were talking fine just a few minutes before I called you, then he just abandoned his duties, and… _ohhhh_ …" Jason's voice trailed as if he just observed something disgusting. "Sorry, nothing about Dick; someone just blew chunks on the dance floor. Too much excitement, I bet."

"What are Joker and Harley doing?" Bruce asked with a serious tone.

"If you can believe it, dancing and clapping to Dick's striptease performance. This is weird. Am I hallucinating?"

"Stay where you are, Jason," Bruce said. "We're on our way. We'll take the Bat Plane, it'll be faster than the Batmobile."

"Better hurry, Bruce, or Dick'll run out of clothes—"

The line suddenly went dead.

"Jason?… _Jason?_ " Bruce turned to Damian, then Tim. "No time to shower. Everyone suit up. I want to know what the hell is going on in that club!"

The whole Bat Family was now alerted to the situation.

 **x x x**

"Hello?…Hello?…Damn service provider!" Jason cursed, and slammed a fist to the bar. Was it a drop call? He put his phone away. None of the bartenders noticed his fit. They were all busy watching the craziness on the floor. The atmosphere was getting crazy now, and some of the other servers even bouncers were joining in on the fray.

He thought about entering the crowd and pulling Dick out, to getting him away from all this, and to snap him out of whatever was affecting him, but thought against it. Whatever it was, the influence was strong enough to affect Dick. And Dick was very strong-willed. He survived a direct dose from one of Scarecrow's hallucination drugs once, and that was powerful stuff. He spent several days getting through the mental issues, but he eventually got through it.

But why wasn't it—whatever it was—affecting him? Jason thought. _At least Bruce and the others are fully alerted now, and they'll be here as soon as humanly possible — knowing Batman, more than humanly possible._

He turned, and noticed Joker and Harley discreetly moving through the crowd and away from the craziness Dick was now causing, distracting everyone. They pushed through the throng of people and headed straight to their private booth in the back, and then sat down. They probably wanted to get away from all the wildness and Jason couldn't blame them.

Suddenly, there was a loud scream. Jason jumped to his feet with a start, looked in the direction it came from, switching his attention away from Joker and Harley, and thought someone had become assaulted or even worse. But it was only Dick, of all people, shouting with glee, soaking in the attention, and whipping his clothes around, like some drunken college frat fool who had too much liquor and couldn't handle it, loosing all inhabitation.

Jason had had heard that certain types of alcohol (and even drugs) affected people in more ways than others, he could attest to that when he drank; he would try different brands of booze for variety, but would always return back to his favourite; but Dick wasn't a drinker, he always preferred a natural high. Dick always said if he wanted excitement and needed to unwind, he'd either patrol the streets of Gotham, prowling the building tops like a prowler, or work out in the War Room, re-creating his Flying Grayson years, performing gymnastic and acrobatics exercises.

Once, Jason even took in a performance when Dick said he needed to think. Dick spent an hour seemingly engaged in mindless repeated routines that he said he had learned since childhood. Jason knew all the moves, since he was once a member of an acrobatic family, too. But with Dick, he did it with such grace and poise, that in comparison to his older adopted brother's natural talent, ability, and flexibility — Dick deserved to win Twister every time. And it was said, with instinct, thinking about your actions was a secondary function. Dick Grayson was an awesome acrobat.

But, as if things weren't strange enough, he also saw a Cassidy dancing in the mix now. Something was affecting her, too. He looked at the ventilation system. He had noticed with every vent, there was a little piece of ribbon attached to each, to indicate air was blowing, and it was. It was starting to get a little humid in the club, too, or perhaps, that was because there was so many people, he couldn't be sure.

Jason turned back to Joker, but all of the sudden, he and Harley were gone, and the booth was empty. He left the bar and pushed through the crowd, even forcing people to get out his way until he made it to the booth. The sound was deafened here with all the soundproofing and he looked briskly at every aspect of the area. Then he saw it, and only someone who had a keen eye would see it—perfect separator lines in the large squares that encompassed the booth. That meant the wall moved.

He searched for a hidden switch and found one underneath the table. He shifted in the padded leather seat and flicked it. The booth itself rotated and the wall flipped. When it stopped, he suddenly he found himself in a large, non-descriptive, white coloured room with no doors or other way out. The music was barely audible in this secret room.

He shifted out of the booth and stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, and gazed around. He was bathed in a soft white light and the walls gave off a self-generating luminance, it was not your standard lighting. It almost felt like a panic room. He banged on each wall, but each wall seemed solid. The sound that came back was non-reverberating which normally came when a wall was built as a stabilized wall.

That was until he got to one section in the corner. Again, it was very tight but he observed very thin slits in the walls indicating a door, a rotating door. When he banged on it, it sounded hollow. He pushed on it, but it wouldn't budge. Was there a switch like that under the table? He hovered his hands over the wall all around the door, but he couldn't find anything like a hidden press switch. What if Joker had a remote control? If so, then Paul Hudson had some serious explaining to do.

"Where did you go, you damn bastard?" Jason shouted.

And suddenly, a trap door opened up from beneath his feet, and he was plunged into darkness.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	10. Happy Gas

_**CHAPTER TEN**_

 _ **"Happy Gas"**_

Jason felt like he was falling into a bottomless abyss, but through the plunge he kept hitting the sides of what he thought was a metal square duct just wide enough to house an adult-size man like himself shoulder-to-shoulder. He free fell through the darkness until he crashed down into some sort of box. His black cap falling off.

The hard thud made him cringe, but he didn't cry out. The pain had immediately forced him to shut his eyes, but when he opened them again, he found himself not in a box but in a cage with metal bars all around him, the kind that housed trapped wild animals in very close quarters. The top lid slammed shut and was locked in, and when he looked at who had done it, he couldn't immediately see her face, but her palindrome clown costume and long, sleek legs, were unmistakable. It didn't take any deduction to know it was Harley Quinn.

He shifted in his position and onto his back, and then kicked at the front bars, hard and angry—no one treated him like a caged animal—with but to no avail. The bars felt to be stainless steel. He kept kicking, not they wouldn't break.

Then came three hard slaps to the top of the cage and Harley leaned over with a smile on her face. "Hallo Puddin'; look what dropped down the laundry shoot," she said, and then crouched down, her legs spread out wide with her pelvis full frontal, her hands on her knees. He momentarily looked at her fully, then growled. "Don't be angry. If you'll nice, I'll bring you a bowl of water and maybe some tasty treats to munch on."

"Let me out of here!" Jason demanded, and banged on the bars again. She didn't flinch. All of sudden, she reached behind her back and produced a small water gun that must've been stuffed in her lower tights that he hadn't seen, and sprayed him in the face with it, chiding: " _Bad Dog! Bad Dog!_ " He flinched when she got him directly in the eyes, stinging as if he had been poked by a needle. He backed off, and put up a hand up to cover his face. She continued to spray. Eyes wide shut, he protested, almost with a sinister smile. "When I get out of here, Harley, I'm going to enjoy beating you senseless along with your sadistic boss, you bitch!"

"Now, now—" came another voice within earshot. "Tsk, tsk, Jason, my boy; what terrible, nasty language from your mouth. Daddy needs to wash your mouth out with soap, or acid." Then came an all too familiar buoyant laugh.

Harley concluded her water attack, stood up and a walked away from the cage.

Jason wiped his eyes. He blinked several times, rubbing the watery fogginess out of his vision. It was then he saw him, his sworn enemy, leaning over, looking into the cage. At that moment, he felt utter rage at seeing Joker, and hence acted like the very angry caged animal he immediately portrayed.

Kicking at the bars on every side, he wanted nothing more than to ring Joker's neck. Suddenly, an even larger whack was heard on the top of the cage, as if hit by a large metal object, and a third person came to view. Jason stopped his tantrum, as he laid eyes on the lower half of a person who wore the same uniform as he, in fact, it was all too familiar. The big, muscular man backed off from the cage with a metal crowbar in hand.

Jason could now see Boss Hogg clearly. "You son-of-a-bitch!" he cursed. "You're in league with this piece of crap?"

He was genuinely shocked. In the beginning, they had got off on the wrong foot, but in the hours that followed, he began to respect the guy. He had to deal with so much at the nightclub. He had so much responsibility and was in charge of so many people. Anyone who could handle that,had to have great patience and trust so many. Cassidy had even remarked when she was shadowing him that despite his tough exterior, the man was a good guy.

Things were not entirely clear yet, but Jason was beginning to get the larger picture.

Joker put a hand on Boss Hogg's shoulder, then shrugged. "What can I say? The man likes money. In fact, he sought me out when I first attended the club," Joker explained. "He knew exactly who I was, he's not a stupid man."

"You're a fool, Boss! Joker will betray you. He never keeps his word!"

"You think I like working here?" Boss said back. "Do you know how difficult it is to keep this place running smoothly? Next to impossible, even with all the staff under my command. Most of them just want to party. And the turnover is beyond insane, most of the complaints I hear are about the heavy workload and the loud music. And don't think I don't know about what happened with you and 'Butch' Cassidy in the back alley. There are secret cameras installed all over this place that only I know about, for my eyes only. I hope you enjoyed your little rendezvous, because it'll be the last time you'll see her."

"Don't you dare hurt her!"

Boss stepped over and slammed the crowbar on the top of the cage again to silence him. The sound was deafening. Jason wasn't prone to intimidation, but he did get the point. He reached behind his back and stealthy took out his cellphone that he had in a protective pouch. He pressed a side button, and it immediately triggered a silent beacon for Batman to home in on. One of Tim's toys, installed on every one of the Bat Family's phones. Something like a panic button. He placed his cell back in the pouch unnoticed.

"So what's a slime-ball like you doing with them? How did you get involved with laughing boy?"

Boss looked at Joker. Joker spoke instead, "Boss here has been helping me for nearly five years, almost the entire time, since the conception of the nightclub, in his capacity as Head of Security. Incentives have rolled his way for the club to be as successful as it is, for certain assurances to be kept, and he has not disappointed me. He's also turned a blind eye to certain things security related. You see, my boy, this club wouldn't have been a success without me. I finance the payroll, and I'm Paul Hudson's silent partner as well as the assistant to Mr. _Jack Filou_."

"Trickster," Jason said. " _Filou_ means trickster in French. Does Paul Hudson know you've swindled him?"

"Swindled him? Oh, Jason, you hurt me…" But Joker laughed regardless. "Oh, in the beginning, Paul Hudson had a real silent partner, and his name _was_ Jack Filou, and allis, of course, but eventually I took over."

"Did you kill the real silent partner? What was his real name?"

"Oh no, he's very much alive, and in good health, and in fact, he and I speak on occasion. He just has bigger fish to fry. He has his hands in deeper things that need his utmost attention. And no, he's not what you'd call a mobster. Paul has only spoken to his silent partner once and he has never seen him personally, only a fake computer-generated photograph that if the police ever attempted to track down would lead them to absolutely no where. Facial, computer-generated technology is a relatively new field, but my partner in this scheme, knows so many tricks of the trade. In fact, he has financed other projects for a number of fiends you and I both know."

Jason thought back to Mr. Freeze and Scarecrow, they both had mysterious benefactors that Tim was still trying to track down. "Are you telling me this person is that involved in crime—that involved in the Rogues?" Jason asked. He needed answers. If what Joker was revealing to him was true, then this would help Tim immensely to help narrow things down, if Jason survived this ordeal, that is? Freeze wasn't talking imprisoned in Arkham. And Dr. Jonathan Crane, Scarecrow, had forgotten his entire crime scheme when subjected to his own hallucinogenic drug when he encountered Dick, Tim, and Damian, at the most recent carnival that attended the waterfront.

Joker was about to say something, but then smirked instead. He raised a finger. He had taken his hand off Boss's shoulder only moments before. "Ah, nice…a detective to the last, Batman has taught you well. Get the villain to reveal everything and then foil it with stewardship and collective ambition, using intelligence to outwit your opponent." He tapped his temple. "I'm not stupid, Jason. You forget, my IQ is off the charts."

He had to antagonize Joker. He had to keep him talking. And the more time he wasted getting Joker to talk, he wagered, the more time Batman had to get here. "So, what's this new scheme of yours about?" He decided to get a little more comfortable since he wasn't getting out anytime soon and sat with his legs crossed. He already had a pretty good idea what the scheme at the club was, but he wanted to hear if from the horse's mouth.

"Oh, oh, let me Mr. J," Harley said, clapping. "Let him guess. How about a game of Charades?"

Joker got excited. "Oh goodie! I like that game! It will more fun for you guess, rather than tell you, my boy. How about that, it's not like you're going anywhere?" He laughed.

Jason cocked his head. "Would you mind if we just jumped to the end?" he said. "I have an answer."

"But I haven't started yet," Harley said.

"It's painfully obvious — money laundering. Am I right?"

Harley slumped her shoulders. "Oh, poo! What are you psychic or something?"

Jason snorted. "No, just intuitive, sweet-heart, and I listen," he said. "Dealing with you two all these years, it's easy to manipulate you in revealing your schemes." He tapped his temple. "And I have a high IQ, too. Unlike fat-head there…" —he indicated Boss Hogg. Hogg gripped the crowbar in his hand tighter and grit his teeth when insulted.

"Very good, Jason," Joker confirmed with a thin smile. "You see, my boy, even though everything here is tap card, the money is deposited in to a collective account to be later distributed to different departments for such things like operations and payroll. But before its re-distributed, I funnel the daily take into several separate secret accounts, fudging the intake total numbers with help from someone in Accounts. I even have some guy — I think his name is Steve — in Ops, who actually handles everything up there; the man is a genius with computers. Paul Hudson trusts him completely, so he has no idea Steve is working for me."

Jason nodded. "That answers one question I had. And once Paul finds out, his life long dream of running a nightclub is ruined thanks to you. You ruin so many lives, you bastard!"

Joker shrugged. "I've ruined so many people's dreams, what's one more? One more notch on the bed post, per se."

"Fine," Jason said, then: "So, explain to me the craziness that's happening out there right now?"

"Oh, you mean why everyone is so carefree and happy? It's all about business and without repeat business the novelty soon wears off. I said before, Boss here has helped me in his capacity to maintain a certain amount of secrecy, turning a blind eye to the real success behind _The Awakening_ Nightclub. And it's all about having a good time. See, when you're happy, you let loose, and when you release all your inhabitations, you enjoy that sensation — think of it like an addictive drug, some people can't get enough. When you feel good, you want more and more of it."

Jason thought back to the ventilation system. It began to make sense. He was using some form of mind-manipulating drug to force the night clubbers to have a good time, so that feeling was continuously reinforced to make the club a success. The more repeat business the more money and he was stealing all of it under Paul Hudson's noise, using him as a pigeon under the guise of real nightclub.

Joker explained how he altered his patented Joker gas, filtered it to make it less potent. He called it 'Happy Gas', because it reinforced feelings of happiness, and then used the ventilation system to spread it throughout the club. And it was switched on during peak times for maximum effect, staying in the system for days, reinforcing 'happy' feelings.

That now begged the question whether Cassidy had been affected when he and she had sex? How many others had she been 'happy' with during her time employed at the club? Did he even want to know?

Joker frowned, and leaned in closer to Jason. "But I'm at a lost why it hasn't worked on you?"

Jason produced a crooked smirk. "Because I'm immune to your bullshit! The day you murdered me was the day my life as a human being came to an end. I guess they call people like me meta-humans. Your gases have no affect on my system, I have a strong resistance factor."

Joker nodded. "You do have amazing regenerative abilities, among other things," Joker returned. "You and I have a very special connection and our lives will forever be intertwined, until one of us dies. In your case, to die again…" He straightened up. "But, I have things to do, and no time to baby sit you. Harley, if you please…"

"With pleasure, Mr. J," she said, with a large grin. Harley often carried a large mallet as a weapon with a number of other assorted arsenal. She had her mallet with her. She screwed off the hammer and pulled something out Jason didn't immediately recognize, but when it was fully shown, housed from inside a hollow portion of the handle of the mallet, Jason realized the full impact of what it was — an electro-cattle prod. And something like that only had one purpose: to electro-shock cattle an animal into submission. Harley switched it on, and blue electricity danced at its two-prong tip. "Time to send you to nighty-nights ville, junior bat-boy."

Jason scurried to the back of the cage, but as all four sides were open bars, he had little place to go when Harley started her attack. She poked through the front bars with the cattle prod, and Jason jerked away, trying to kick the cattle-prod away, almost in a panic, banging into the side bars. Harley then poked again, and this time she managed to strike his left leg. He yelped and it immediately went numb.

Then Harley used that moment of distraction against him and zapped him directly in the middle of the chest, depressing the cattle-prod switch at what felt like full power.

And it was lights out.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	11. Family

**_CHAPTER ELEVEN_**

 ** _"FAMILY"_**

The Bat Plane soared across the night sky as it made its way to Bludhaven. It passed over the bridge that crossed the river that connected both cities and its urban city landscape. GPS was tracking their position and had determined their flight path, by way of now Jason's panic signal from his phone. It had been the first time Jason had ever used it, so if he activated it, there was definitely trouble. They needed to get to The Awakening Nightclub fast!

Tim had used all his tricks to hack into servers to get what he needed to make a startling truth about the nightclub that he hadn't been able to acquire before and that was the nightclub was one big fraud. And it was financed by a man named Jack Filou, a supposed French business man had Tim determined was _très faux_ , as the French would say. Very fake. Nothing rang true about this person and Tim wagered it was a front for the Joker himself. But it was yet to be determined if Paul Hudson, Dick's long-time friend, was in league and compliance with the criminal mastermind?

Tim also learned the club's finances were in the gutter and the numbers posted online were altered to show positivity. In truth, the nightclub was so much in the red it should've closed a long ago. Again, did Paul Hudson know? Or had Joker fed him false numbers in being the assistant to his silent partner who was a fake?

Red Robin was seated in the passengers seat of the Bat Plane, his laptop resting on his knees, as Batman piloted. Damian (Robin) was in a rear seat. Suddenly Damian leaned in, his face between them, and said, "So, you really think Grayson's friend didn't know about this whole scheme? I don't buy it. I think Grayson's friend is a dirty cop, the same Grayson tried to weed out when he joined the Bludhaven PD before my time. Grayson obviously missed one."

"We can't make that determination yet," Tim said, typing on his laptop.

Tim then sighed after a batch of new financial information scrolled across his screen. They were possible bank fraud and money laundering red flags. Only an expert would've been able to find this, he knew. The actions had been well hidden by someone who knew what they were doing, an expert in schemes of this type. Who? Tim didn't know yet. But every online hacker had a style, and they fell into a certain category, like bomb-makers. Online hackers use "algorithmic-markers" and "pseudocode" to formulate their work. Whoever was behind this scheme was good.

"Maybe Dick or Jason can shed more light on things when we get there?" Tim said. "Judging from the information I've just recently gathered, Joker has been in this particular scheme for as long as the club has been opened, which doesn't look good for Paul Hudson."

"Less tech, more intuition, Drake," Damian said. "You just repeated what I said. Paul Hudson is dirty!"

Tim refused to get into a tête-à-tête with Damian at the moment. Instead he pinged Dick and Jason's phone for the umpteenth time to verify their location. They hadn't changed, both phones were in _The Awakening_ nightclub.

Just then, Dick called Tim's computer—or the program the laptop was running connected to the phone network. An old rotatory phone icon appeared; Tim's idea. Either Dick was about to call him or he was looking at his phone when Tim pinged his phone in real-time. He answered it with a button on his laptop, putting it on speakerphone. Immediately, he had to turn down the volume because of the loud ambient music in the background.

"Hey Timmy," Dick said loudly. "You just pinged my phone?"

"Yeah…" Tim began.

"You okay, Grayson?" Damian finished.

"Sure, never better. This is a sweet club. Paul has a goldmine here! Come and join me!"

"You're there to work for your friend, Dick, or have you forgotten?" Batman said coarsely.

"Not anymore, I'm having too much fun! Woo hoooooooooo! Let's shake it, like it's nineteen-ninety-nine!"

Tim lowered the sound, turned to Batman. "Okay, need it be said that something is serious wrong here?" He groaned under his breath. "This is definitely not like the Dick we all know. Knowing Joker, he's probably released some of his special gas into the club to make everyone party. With everyone distracted, he's probably robbing them blind."

"Joker gas doesn't work that way," Damian retorted. "It either makes you hysterically laugh your head off until you fall unconscious and/or it kills you as you laugh yourself to death."

They all agreed that was a possibility.

"I can attest to that," Batman said. "Neither one of you have ever experienced the effects of Joker gas, have you?" He turned and looked at them both in turn, and both shook their heads. He continued to pilot. "So, you have no idea what it can do to you. Ask Dick sometime, he can tell you stories. The effects are unpleasant, you're laughing, but nothing is funny. Your body hurts, and the result is similar to a heart-attack—you're smiling in the end. But that's from a large dose. With smaller doses, you find yourself completely incapacitated with laughter."

Both boys seemed silent with shock.

"What kind of a freak invents something like that?" Damian remarked. "Strike that, the freak we're after now."

Tim got back to the phone call, he turned up the volume slightly. "Dick, what's your current status? _Dick?_ " But he didn't answer, and the cell phone sounded like it had been left somewhere unattended. "We need to get the club fast!"

"That's the understatement of the year, Drake," Damian replied, then snorted frustration.

All of a sudden, another old rotatory phone icon flashed on Tim's laptop. Tim placed Dick's call on hold, as if he needed to—if Dick had indeed abandoned his phone somewhere to party without a care; how irresponsible of him—and answered the other call. It was Jason. "Jason—Red Robin here. Are you okay? Please confirm your location?"

"Hello kiddies!" came Joker's voice. "I'm sorry, but dear ol' Jason Todd can't come to the phone right now. He's a little distracted" —sounds of screams could be heard on the other end of the line— "He had a nice nap, but now he's up and reviving to go. I'm really shocked he has so much energy and if you can see him, so is he…" Joker laughed, as Jason screamed—the sounds of zapping could be heard in the background. Joker had obviously placed Jason's phone closer to whatever was happening for them to hear. ("C'mon puddin' — dance for me!" Harley's voice was then heard, and something like the sound of electricity was heard, and more zapping.) "It's quite a shocking show here," Joker continued—more screaming— "and I'm afraid Jason'll won't be calling you back anytime soon. Please leave a brief message, because I doubt he'd be about to listen to anything at length once he's more crisp than Sunday's fried chicken." There was the sound of more electric zapping, and more screaming. "Beeeeeeeeeeep!" He call ended.

Batman increased speed.

"Todd and I have had our differences, but I don't want to see him _dead…_ " Jason had died and then returned before Damian had joined the Bat Family, but he knew Jason's history, " _…again!_ " He asked Tim to play back the sound of the zapper. "That sounds like he's being electrocuted with…No, not even Grayson would be that irresponsible to allow his weapons to fall into the hand of the Joker, but, in his current state, anything is possible—maybe, a cattle prod? That would be Joker's modus-operandi. Anything to inflict maximum damage. And he hates Jason, so much!"

"The feeling's mutual," Batman added.

Tim returned to Dick's call, and Dick was actually on the line now to receive him. Tim asked why he left his phone. Dick said he hadn't, but it had been accidentally turned it down—they could hear him, but he couldn't hear them. A wrong movement of his hand. Tim then told Dick what had just occurred and the phone call with Joker. "Dick, you need to go find Jason. He's in trouble!" Tim pleaded.

"Go find him yourself, I'm having fun here!"

"Dick! This is Bruce! I'm giving you an order! Go find Jason now!"

Dick sputtered. "Piss off, Bruce! You're always ordering me around! No wonder I left you—and it wasn't just because you almost killed that guy! You're just as bad as some of the psychopaths we hunt!" Bruce gritted his teeth; was about to say something—both boys looked at each other shocked—but then the call ended abruptly. Dick had ended it.

Bruce slammed a fist on the plane console. "That son-of-a-bitch!" Batman cursed. "He still won't forgive me for that!"

Damian seemed to slink back into his chair and Tim returned to his computer, avoiding eyes with Batman. They both knew Bruce and Dick's history and why Dick left Bruce. It was a difference of opinion between them, and when Dick had pointed out that Bruce was starting to become the very thing he hated, Bruce hit Dick, ending their long-standing partnership.

"Don't take it to heart, Batman," Tim said cautiously. "I suspect its Joker's new gas. It acts much like alcohol on the system, loosening morals and inhabitation." Then he gulped when he saw Batman was still angry and shut-up.

Damian then chimed in, slammed a fist into a hand, as if to give himself courage. "Damn it all! This is not like Grayson at all. Father made a mistake, will all do. But like each and every one of us, we have learned from them."

Batman sighed. "Damian, Dick is right. That is one mistake I will never let down. When Dick's parents died, I fostered him and he became my ward. I thought because I was partially to blame for his parents' deaths, it was my responsibility to raise him responsibility. But I admit that I failed. Our partnership was based on trust and reliability, Batman and Robin were a team, but in retrospect, at the time of our falling out, I was undergoing a lot of stress. Was the job becoming too much for me? I don't remember. But Dick was right. If I had killed that thug way back when, I would've become the very think I despise, and the very thing that murdered my parents.

"When things repeated themselves with Jason, and his parents were killed by Harvey Two-Face, I thought I could make amends, start over. But I only made the same mistakes and it got Jason killed. That is my cross to bare, no one else is to blame. In a way, I was the one who murdered both Jason and Dick's parents with my arrogant vigilantism. And I had pushed the Joker too far, and Jason became the target of his frustration. Jason suffered because of me. And I swore I would never let it happen again, that I would never allow myself to partner with anyone else. It's hard to even admit this, but I've loved Jason more like a son than I ever did Dick. But I think he knew that."

Damian padded Batman on the shoulder. "Similarities do bring people closer, father. But just think of it this way, look at all the lives you've saved because you've stayed true to your cause? Drake and myself, we live because of you. I am a by-product of your strong lineage, and Drake, he's a by-product of yet you caring enough to once again save one more life from a life of suffering and harm—namely his father, who used to beat him on a daily bases. Together, we make a formidable team who fight the forces of evil and protect those who cannot. We are the Bat Family."

"And that we can both agree on," Tim said with a smile.

Batman said nothing for the moment. He paused as he piloted the Bat Plane and gazed out into the clear night sky through the glass canopy. The stars and moon cascaded an unexplained beauty that engulfed him his core like two very dissimilar things complimenting one another like a cohesive outstanding pair. Much like him and his family.

When it all began, he was one kid against the world. Now that he was the adult, he was no longer alone in his plight, and he had people to protect and those same people protected him with the same resolve.

Embattled as he had been throughout the years, he had never forgot who and what he was needed to protect. And despite their differences in opinions, Dick would always be his "first born son". He hoped like a father to his son, the teachings he installed in Dick to guild him into adulthood, at the very least had been mildly successful. If the true testament for a son was to surpass his father, then for Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, and even Damian, he was, at the very least, a father they could rely on, to protect them when they needed him the most, and vice versa. He wasn't always the perfect father-figure. But no man is.

He took his hand off the yoke and patted Damian's shoulder. "Thanks, son. Thanks, Tim. That means a lot. I may not say it much, but I'm proud of every last one of you." He then returned to piloting, putting both hands on the yoke. "ETA, two minutes," he then said. "Let's go save our family!"

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	12. At The Villains' Mercy

_**CHAPTER TWELVE**_

 _ **"AT THE VILLAINS' MERCY"**_

Jason awoke with a start as a bucket of water was splashed into his face. He jerked back, momentarily thinking that Harley was going to electrocute him again with the cattle prod which had twice caused him to lapse into unconsciousness from the pain. He always considered himself to be a tough guy—anyone who came back from the dead had to be tougher than most—but often reality set in and in the end his humanity slapped him in the face.

He coughed, water had gotten into his nostrils and throat. He was temporarily blinded by a blinding light that was only enhanced by the water acting like an overcast across his pupils. He attempted to rub his eyes, but found himself restricted. He blinked several times to clear his vision and then looked down at his body. He was held down on a platform, his wrists and ankles bound with leather straps. There was also a leather brace across his lower waist attached at either end of the platform, which looked more like an antiquated medical table from two centuries past.

Between his legs, he saw a frightful sight—a large bladed metal buzzsaw attached to an elbow arm crane on the ceiling just at the end of the table. When he was unconscious, he thought he was dreaming of bees, but it must have been the buzzsaw—Joker testing it out, as the blade had already a bit a couple of inches into the table.

Harley had been the one that splashed him with water. She was just putting the bucket down as Joker entered the room, a room that appeared completed detached from everything and everywhere else, the only access was through the door. Jason could see nothing but the wall to the outside corridor beyond.

"Ah, you're awake," the villain said. "Welcome back to the land of the living, so to speak." Joker laughed. "But if Batman and company aren't quicker, you're only be half your usual self." Joker patted the buzzsaw, chuckling. Then he flinched as he touched a sharp part of the blade. He started to bleed from a finger tip. "Ow, now that's sharp; sharp enough to cut cattle." Joker laughed again. Harley now held the cattle prod in her hand. She pressed a button on the side and electricity danced from its two prong tips. Jason's eyes widened. "Oh, not to worry, my boy. The cattle prod did its due diligence. You won't see it again." Joker's eyes narrowed as if he had just seen something confounding, then he quickly raced to Jason's left side. He put both hands on the upper part of Jason's face just under his eyes as if to frame something, moving his skin around. "Where it is? Where is my mark?"

Jason smirked. "Do you mean the 'J' scar you branded me with like a farmer would his cattle?"

" _YES!_ " he demanded. "Did you have plastic surgery to remove it?" Joker seemed to growl. Then he quickly calmed like the psychopath that he was; one moment he could be high, the next low—emotional instability. He then slapped Jason's face with two hard pats; Jason flinched. "That is disappointing! You and I have a history, my boy, but no matter what happens in the long run, you'll always—and I mean: _always_ —be mine!"

"I'm a slave to no one! Especially to a sadist like you. As for the scar, I heal quickly." Jason said nothing about the Lazarus Pit water with its healing properties Ra's al Ghul was sending him that he used to gradually fade the scar among other wounds. The rest of the Bat Family were now using it to heal their most deepest wounds, too. Even Alfred was using to banish the winkles of Father Time. And it actually worked to make them all appear younger.

Joker slapped him as if hitting an insolent child. Jason flinched. "You lie! I cut that brand down to the bone! What's your secret? I have to know!" Joker then grabbed Jason's shirt and ripped it open, exposing his naked chest. He looked stunned. "What the hell? Not a scar on you! What are doing—bathing in Holy Water?"

Jason snickered. "Something like that," he said, and then laughed mockingly. "I'll take the secret to my grave."

Joker sneered. He then perked up, as if a happy thought suddenly chimed in his demented mind. "Oh, really? Hmm…Perhaps another cut to the bone will change your mind? But this time it won't be to your face I carve my 'J' brand on." Joker directed Jason's attention to the already established buzzsaw in dramatic showmanship style. "But," he then said, almost as an afterthought. "This won't be any fun without an audience. There's nothing more exciting than a public execution with friends. Harley, my dear, would you be so kind as to collect the others?"

"Others?" Jason wondered. "What others?"

Joker spread his arms out wide as if to mimic angelic winds. "Why, Paul Hudson, and the ever so popular Dick Grayson, your adopted sibling, of course," he said, smirking. "Did you really think I wouldn't recognize him? I knew who he was straight off the bat—Bruce Wayne's original ward. Like I told you, my little tittle-winks, I'm smarter than the average bear. He's a member of Gotham's so-called 'Royalty', like that Tim Drake, and that insufferable little brat" —he snapped his fingers as if trying to recall something—"the one named after Lucifer; the small one—the new Robin—Yes, Damian."

Harley's mouth dropped in shock. She hadn't left yet. "Wait! Mr. J. Are you saying that cute waiter; the stripper at the club; and that guy I made kiss the owner of this club…was none other than _goodie tooshoes Dick Grayson_?"

"That's what I said, Harley," Joker said, looking at her. "Why?"

" _Oh…my…god!_ " She was bewildered but with excitement. "I wish I took a picture. You know how much money we could've made with blackmail?"

"You should've thought ahead then, Harley, or your boss should've let you in on what he knew. But he always did like keeping secrets, eh, Jack?" Jason said with a crooked smirk. Joker sneered. Jack was Joker's real name. But his last name was still secret. "Besides, Dick doesn't give a damn what other people think. He's comfortable with who he is, his own sexuality and interests. And what does it matter in the world we live in today anyway?"

Joker turned back. "Yes, indeed; moral depravity is at its core these days, but that's just my feeling on the matter."

At that very moment, Jason didn't give a damn if Roy Harper went both ways and had kissed him secretly in the Bat Cave. People try new things to keep things interesting in life. In retrospect, it felt kind of nice to switch things up a bit. What made Jason most mad right now, however, was Joker's natural prejudice on the issue.

"You're one to talk, you sadistic piece of shit!" Jason retorted. "So, what really happened to your wife? We know you were married once, but your history is sketchy at best before the accident that turned you into this white faced freak!"

Joker breathed out deeply with an angry growl. "Haven't you ever heard of minding your own business? Yes, I was married once. But that was a long time ago. And she left me before the accident, in fact. She left me for another man who offered her riches I couldn't. I was an up-and-coming mobster at the time, deep within a crime syndicate that had promising endeavours. That was before Batman stormed into the picture, dismantled the syndicate, and threw me into a vat of chemicals that changed me into the man I am today. I guess, like you, I'm on my second life. Would that make me a meta-human, too?"

"No, that would make you meta-stupid."

Joker charged Jason and gripped his hands around his neck. He began to squeeze. Jason gagged, tried to breath. "I had high hopes of making your death a spectacular one, but all you do is get on my nerves. I hate everything about you, especially your sarcasm! I think the sensible thing to do is to kill you right here, right now, and then cut up your corpse. Then I'll burn it to make sure you stay dead!"

"Mr. J! _Stop it!_ " Harley pleaded. "The plan…Remember the plan! Killing him isn't part of it!"

"But it'll sure be fun!"

Joker continued to squeeze for a few more moments, ignoring Harley's words. But then he let go. His hands flying to his sides in dramatic fashion with a large smile on his face. Jason coughed, and sucked in air with several breathes.

"Once again, your life is spared for the moment, but only temporarily. I, the merciful…" Joker laughed short, then turned to Harley. "Go get the others. I want no more delays."

"Yes, sir," Harley said, and then left.

Jason coughed some more.

Joker padded Jason's right thigh as if to give him some comfort. He then seemed to squeeze the thigh, then eyed the other. "But you and I will continue to spend some more one-on-one time together, thunder thighs," Joker said to him. Jason gritted his teeth at the name-calling. Dick had started that name just yesterday and it seemed everyone was using it now. Fine, he had thick thighs. _Move on!_ "And this time, my dear boy," Joker continued, "and I mean this from the heart," he smiled largely, "compared to the others—you'll always be a cut above the rest!"

Joker then laughed, but it started with a " _Ah-woo, Ah-whoo, Ah-whoo…_ " and went to a " _Hahahahahahahahaha!_ " echoing the entire room, as if it were some inner joke.

Then he reached over to a side table, picked up a remote control, and flicked a switch. He turned on the buzzsaw.

x x x

Harley took the freight elevator up from the basement to the main floor and immediately when the doors opened her ears were blasted with music and the unpleasant aroma of collective human sweat from fifteen-hundred people.

 _Gross,_ she thought, waving a hand across her face, pitched her noise. _This place is going to need a major cleaning after tonight. Oh yeah, that's right, the plan calls for no an after tonight. Tee-hee._

She made her way through the back halls and then came to a set of double doors which she then opened to see the main dance floor raving with people all dancing to the band's eclectic beat. Over the course of the night, the band played more 70s and 80s songs than anything modern and she liked it. It was before her time, but bands from past eras were really good. No wonder so much was making a comeback for the new younger generation to enjoy.

At the moment, if she recalled, the song currently playing was an instrumental version of _Disco Inferno_. The lights were flashing and blinking with hypnotic context to the relatively darkened club atmosphere everywhere else. It was kind of cool, she thought, but not so cool for those with epilepsy. But they wouldn't be at the club anyway knowing their condition. All the flashing lights would trigger seizures.

All the songs were really rad sounding without all of this political correctness garbage tossed in. Each song felt like it was from the heart, it wasn't about guns or violence like songs today. She thought about gathering up a collection of all the songs she heard tonight to download them. But that would come later.

Right now, she had two people to hunt down to take back to Joker.

Paul Hudson would probably be in the main operations room, she thought, but Dick Grayson—t _he hottee stripper from Gotham_ —had to be somewhere on the dance floor. That was where she last saw him, tearing off his clothes and dancing like a drunken loon, before she and Joker went back to their private booth.

The Happy Gas must have really affected him strongly. Some people Joker tested it on had mild reactions and some had more intense ones during its preliminary phases before they decided to use it at the club. Dick Grayson must've been one of those rare breeds that it affected intently like some diseases that hit people harder than most. Freaky happenstances, they called it. But looking for him on the dance floor with all these people would be like searching for a particular needle in a stuffed animal that someone had too much fun poking with hundreds of needles. She was describing herself with a stuffed toy she at home with hundreds of needles in it. A stuffed bat, because of Batman.

She still couldn't believe the caped crusader has his own brand of merchandise now. The fast food chain "Bat Burger" also put Batman toys into their kids happy meals. She often went to her neighbourhood joint and ordered a burger with everything and asked for a toy, but only one seemed to ever be in stock: Red Hood, everyone else was taken, and the most rare toys asked for was either Nightwing or that little Robin brat. Red Robin was not offered. Why? The servers didn't have an answer for that. Maybe Red Robin didn't sign a waiver for his likeness? She didn't know.

Anyway, she shook her head. She was thinking off topic. The best course of action was to snatch Paul Hudson first. Then once she had him, she could force Dick Grayson into coming with her if he wanted his friend to stay safe. _Yeah, that was the way to do it._

Dick Grayson was one of Gotham's royal-elites. After tonight, and if everything went according to plan—although she knew Batman and company were on their way, but Joker already had a plan ready—she'd be blind, stinking rich, and she may even be able to blackmail Richie Rich in the process. If Grayson's secret ever got out that he was a stripper, the media would have a field day, and that would be scandalous. She wondered what he would pay to keep that secret in the shadows? Millions, she thought, as imaginary dollar signs ringed in her mind.

She knew where the Operations Centre was and that was most likely where Paul Hudson would be, so she hugged the back wall, snaked her way through the throngs of people, and made her way to an old eclectic looking spiral staircase—why they installed it in the club, she didn't know, but it looked cool anyway—that led not only to the second tier, but also to the third, where "Ops" occupied that floor solely. Tinted glass masked its interior, but it was painfully obvious that that was where it was, and that it was overseeing the entire club below.

Suddenly, as she took hold of the metal banister to start her climb up the retro-spiral staircase, she stopped short. She saw Batman enter the front entrance of the club followed by the two Robins in tow. She cursed, things were not ready. But that didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun. Joker still needed time. And, of course, knowing him, he also wanted to torture Jason Todd more. So, she would have to make up the shortfall.

She had her fantasies too. She was about to have a foursome with— _strike that_ , she thought. What a freaky little mind she had. Batman, yes…Red Robin, he was cute—he did win #9 in the Best Butt contest in an online poll…but the little one—the runt, just plain old Robin—he wasn't even old enough to talk about girls yet, little lone date.

Batman was way out of her league, in introspect. But she wondered what was all the fuss with Red Robin? Yes, he had a good body, but she had never seen his butt because it was always covered with a cape or wings. She had voted for Nightwing in the poll on G-TMZ, because Nightwing did have the cutest tushie she had ever seen. Maybe, if she played her cards right, things could happen in her favour tonight? And she'd finally see what was all the hubbub was about Red Robin's rare rear feature that got him on the top ten best superhero butts?

" _Whoo hoooooooo!_ " came a drunken holler from the dance floor.

She looked, and saw that Dick Grayson was dancing around in a pair of speedos much like he was when stripteasing at that club only in a g-string, swinging his pants in the air like a drunken fool. The "Happy Gas" apparently was really having a great deal of effect on him. Luckily, she took the antidote, or she'd be out there swinging her caboose, too.

She cursed. She was too far away to get a picture or even a get descent video of his dancing. And it would be too much trouble to reach into her costume to grab her phone even though it sat firmly between her breasts. They were the perfect placement holders. Thinking, if she could get even one picture, she'd post it on the net and maybe even make some cash off of it. G-TMZ would probably pay a fortune for the exclusive rights to the picture/video. But that was out of the question right now. She's just have to file the image in her mind for later.

Suddenly, Red Robin pointed at her, and then began to push through the crowd. She jumped off the staircase and ran back from once she'd come and back into the rear hall where the freight elevator was housed. But instead of using the elevator, she burst through into a storage closest and shut the door. If she stayed really quiet, he'll never find her.

The door was locked when Red Robin checked the closest she was in, Harley hugged the wall in the darkened room. When she heard what sounded like footsteps heard further down the hall, she quietly unlocked the door and peaked outside. Red Robin was alone and he was checking other doors most of which were locked. One, however, was unlocked, and he entered. This was her chance to pounce.

Opening the door, she ran down the hall, burst through the room Red Robin had gone into, and jumped on him from behind. Then she coiled her limbs around him like a snake.

He struggled, but to no avail. "Let me go, Harley!" he demanded.

"You may be strong-looking, Red," she began. "But when I latch onto something almost nothing will break my hold. I may look tiny, but I have muscles where some muscles aren't supposed to be on a girl like me."

"That's…disturbing, in so many ways," Red Robin said. "And I hope that's not what I think it is poking me in the back."

"You sick, mother—" she said, finishing with a hard punch to his left ear. He cried out in pain. In that distraction, she reached down, where the thing that was poking him in the back was in a hidden pocket in her palindrome costume, and pulled out a small, canister of spray, for which she used it on him in the face.

He coughed, and she kept holding him tightly as he struggled, until finally, he began to easy his fight, and finally he relaxed altogether—the spray causing quick paralysis in the body.

When he quit resisting fully, she unlatched from him, rolled, and then turned him over on his back. He was completely at her mercy right now, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	13. Passion and Conflict

_**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**_

 _ **"PASSION AND CONFLICT"**_

Red Robin couldn't move. Whatever it was that Harley had sprayed him with had him completely immobilized, but for some odd reason, yet a good reason, he could still talk. "Harley, what the heck did you do to me?"

Harley smiled. She then appeared to slink on top of him like a homebred feline, after she shut the door locking them both inside alone. The lighting was dim, but there was more than enough to see. She planted herself on his body. He felt her weight settled on his stomach and chest, but it felt nothing compared to the heavy weights he lifted when working out. The only uncomfortable thing about it was how close she was and what she could do to him. She planted herself and then rested her chin on interlocking fingers with her elbows out-stretched on his pecs.

"Why hello, handsome, fancy meetin' you 'ere," she said conversationally, smiling sensually.

"What the heck did you do to me?" he repeated. "Some sort of paralyzing agent, I assume? But I can still talk?"

"Bingo!" She showed him the small spray bottle. "This thing that was poking you in the back—that you so lewdly attested to something else; sicko—was this: a muscle relaxer much like a freezing agent at a dental clinic formulated to only target and incapacitate certain muscles, not to completely immobilize you. That's why you can still talk. Joker is a genius!" She then tossed it aside, as if no longer needed. "I wanted us to get to know each other a bit better. Spray you with that—this way, you can't run away. And since you' always want to arrest me for the little-bitty things I do with Mr. J, I thought I'd try to arrest you in this position—on your back. Fun, eh?"

"Yeah, really fun…"

"I can think of so many fun things we can do, very fun things; things that couples do; we have the time." He gulped nervous. Then she seemed to gaze a little bit above his nose as if in disapproval. "But let me ask you something first: Why do you wear such a ridiculous mask? It makes you look like you're wearing a giant condom."

"Hey now, that's not nice," Tim said, a little hurt. "Someone else said that and I didn't like it then either."

"Switch to your other mask. Take my advise, sweetie-pie. I prefer you in your other mask anyway. It shows off more skin. And I think nice skin should be shown off, along with beautiful hair, too—if you have it? Come to mention it, someone else has nice hair, too—two-tone. And I love its wild look. Jason Todd is the only one I think of who can put it off. I've seen other men with it and it looks too flaky on them, while Jason Todd has the natural look." She chuckled, knowing full well the white in Jason's hair was out of his control brought on my something else; a sudden fright. The fact that he had died and was resurrected. Joker must've told her, Tim mused. "And speaking of him, Mr. J has him in the basement as we speak. So, what are you trying to hide? Other than your face?" She touched his mask.

Okay, she just answered one question he had. "What's your scheme here?" Drake had a pretty good idea, but he wanted verification. "And don't touch my mask! I hide my face to protect my friends and family. If my face was ever exposed, it could put them in jeopardy…" _Or, great, Drake…give her ideas now. Now she'll want to see your face._

"Think about it, I bet you can figure it out," she said, answering his first question. "Suffice it to say, everything is being done right under the club's owner nose. He has no clue." She smiled, then: "I find it ironic that the good guys hide their faces why the bad guys are completely open about their appearance." Drake couldn't argue against that. "But I have no desire to see what you look like. I find it sexier not to know my playmates faces while I abuse them." She tapped his chest. "Although, I'd prefer if you were blindfolded right now, wearing a skimpy black speedo, and sporting a set of dominatrix chest straps and harbouring chains, as you're pushed to your limits."

Red Robin gulped again. The very thought of that was shocking, the imaginary perverse.

Harley raised herself and he followed her right hand as she reached down between her legs and towards his lower region. He protested, but she insisted. " _Wow!_ Even with the paralyzing agent. I generate that intense of a response? How very honest of you, honey," she said with a smile, "and I guess you like girls, huh, unlike some."

He grunted as she rubbed, said: "And what exactly does that mean?"

"It's just that one of Gotham's so-called Royals — Dick Grayson — may be harbouring a deep secret that maybe people would like to know?" She told him what she had seen and how the passion oozed out from the kiss he shared with Paul Hudson, the club's owner. Red Robin was speechless. "Although, come to think about it, maybe it was just for my benefit? I was threatening him with a gun at the time. To save his own skin perhaps he loosened his morals? I don't know. Anyway, it was a hot kiss. They both got into it hot and heavy, and with tongue. Oh, so delicious!"

Drake didn't know what to say, he'd have to ask Dick about it later. "It's really none of my business what the citizens of Gotham do in their free time." He knew Dick had taken the job for the night to help his friend out. Now things had turned very bad. "But knowing you, Harley, and your perverted ways, I can see why Dick Grayson did it. He's a good hearted man, he probably did it to save his friend, too. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss and a sigh is just a sigh—to quote Frank Sinatra. Everyone knows how sadistic you are."

Harley took offence to that and pounded Drake's chest with repeated fists.

" _Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop it!_ " Then she slapped him across the face. " _Ow!_ " he further protested. "That really hurt! Even though I'm paralyzed, I can still feel pain!"

"Okay, then how about you feel this…" and she unbuckled his belt and pulled his shirt out of his tights, lifted it, and blew on his belly like a little baby. Drake laughed, and said it tickled. Then she seemed to stop short. "Wait, call me slow, but did you just say it tickles, and before that, it hurts?"

Drake looked at her. "You really are slow sometimes, aren't you?" He reached up and grabbed her, then turned her over, and cradled her, switching positions. But unlike the paralyzing agent, he had to hold her legs and arms down with his own weight, which wasn't difficult. She seemed dumbfounded. "The spray worked initially, but it wore off just as quickly, and I faked being incapacitated. But I bet you 'fake it' with all the boys, don't you, sweetie-pie?"

Harley spit in his face. "Don't mock me. You're younger than most of the 'boys' I date, but I could really go for a guy like you. I heard your pretty smart and I bet you are pretty handsome underneath that mask? And you did rise to the occasion when properly stimulated. So, that was not fake."

"Debate in your mind all you want, I'm not going to show you my face." He paused for a moment. "But…don't get me wrong, Harley, I find you really attractive right now." All of suddenly, he leaned in and kissed her, pressing his lips to hers. She momentarily protested, but then she gave in. Red Robin pulled away fast. "Oh, my god! I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me!" He quickly got to his feet, and backed away, wiping white paint off the lower half of his face. "That was completely unlike me."

"You must be reacting to the Happy Gas," she explained. He asked her what that was and she explained it.

"So, that's what must be affecting…" he started to say about Dick, who he saw dancing like a crazy fool on the dance floor before he began to chase after Harley. "So, this Happy Gas is that powerful that it suppresses a person's moral core? Loosens their inhabitations, too? And their ability to distinguish right from wrong?"

Harley nodded. "Unless you have the antidote like I took?" She then shrugged. "But hey, we're here, alone in this room, no one's around—why not have a little fun? Or are you scared? Been with a girl before? Are you a virgin?"

Drake was about to rebuke, but dropped it.

"But…" Harley felt her lips. "You're not the worse kisser I've had. If I have to rank you, I'd rank you in the top three. While your butt is ranked number two in my books. Nightwing comes in first, of course. He has such a tight butt!"

"I have no idea why I was on that list," Red Robin said.

He bent down and grabbed his belt, then snapped it on. Taking out a set of handcuffs from a pouch, he presented them to Harley, as if allowing her the presence of mind to handcuff herself. Knowing her, she wouldn't. But he gave her the option. "Okay, Harley, time to come quietly. And I need you to lead me to Joker. Whatever his plan is—and I bet it's bigger than just money laundering—he needs to be stopped."

Harley extended her arms and humourlessly remarked, "Oh goodie, jewelry. And I go you nuthin'." She took the handcuffs, but only snapped one on her right wrist. She left the other cuff to dangle. "In another life—in another place—these could be kinky." She closed her eyes, then said: "I can see you handcuffed to a bed, and me on top of you—a wicked love fest, our naked bodies pressed together in sweaty passion, your hands cupping my—" She opened her eyes sharply. "Oh boy, looks like the antidote is wearing off. I'm getting some really wild ideas here."

Red Robin stood awestruck.

Harley bit her lip, happened to gaze down. "Oh, hello again," she said, pointing at his lower region. Drake looked down and saw Harley's fantasy had got the better of his thoughts and covered up. "No need to be shy…it's only human to be tantalized by a pretty girl." Harley walked towards him, sexily. Then she put her hands on his chest, he took a step back and hit the wall. "My loins are burning for the touch of a good man, Red Robin. And you'll do quite nicely. Mr. J can't give me what I need. Come, let's us make passionate, kinky love together."

"Um…this isn't the time, Harley," he said, stuttering slightly. "Can I take a rain check?"

Harley's eyes fluttered confusion. "What?" She looked dumbfounded, even angry. "You want to take a rain check? I offer myself to you and you want to take a rain check? What are you, like five? How inexperienced are you that you reject me? Maybe you'd _do_ prefer men like Paul Hudson—if you know what I mean? I feel so hurt right now."

Red Robin's mouth opened, but he was speechless. He didn't know what to say. Was this an act, or was the Happy Gas actually affecting her emotions? But he had to agree, asking for a rain check was a stupid thing to say. Why wouldn't he be interested? Yet, he was here to help Dick and Jason. He wasn't here for a rendezvous with…this pretty, voluptuous, young vixen…who wanted him, right here, right now…

He threw caution to the wind, forgot himself, and went to kiss her—only to be blocked by a hard knock on the door. It was the first time in his life he cursed out loud. He grabbed the door handle and swung it open, Harley hidden behind the door. "WHAT?"

On the other side of the threshold stood Damian as Robin. "What do you mean… _what?_ Did you find Harley?"

Harley said, "Shush" very quietly from behind the door. "Play it natural." Then she came out into the open. "He got me, I'm beaten, poor ol' Harley Quinn has been defeated again," she said albeit dramatically. She handcuffed the other wrist and then presented herself to Red Robin fully. "Please arrest me, Red Robin. I'm yours."

Damian cupped his hips. "Something funny is going on here," he said suspiciously. "But I'm glad she's in custody. Batman needs you on the floor" —("I do, too," Harley whispered to Red Robin quietly)— " _Our friend_ needs to be sedated, if you know what I mean? He's gone nuts!"

"Right," Red Robin said, knowing Damian was talking about Dick.

"I'll take care of Harley."

"You're too young for me," she said shortly. "And you barely reach to my breasts."

"Huh?"

Red Robin smiled thin. "Ah—never-mind, she's a little loopy," he said, and he quickly explained about the Happy Gas. He then told Damian that Jason was somewhere in the basement with Joker.

Damian nodded. "I'll relay it to Batman. Get going!"

Had he been distracted by Harley's uncontrolled lust for him? Tim wondered. The influence of he Happy Gas was playing on his emotions, he wagered. Or was it something else? Was he actually attracted to her? It all seemed so confusing. And it created a conflict within his mind. Was it a form of Stockholm Syndrome when a victim falls in love with their captor? He didn't know and it bothered him.

But the strangest thing was, in quick introspect, was that he didn't argue even after Damian seemingly ordered him to leave. Normally he would take offence to an order by the young Robin. But he just left without question.

He hoped his mind would clear, as he sae Damian enter the storage room and shut the door.

As he went to leave, he then remembered something and he was thankful he had it. He reached into a pouch in his belt and took out a small grey capsule, it was the antidote to Scarecrow's latest hallucinogenic drug. He had just finished it a few days prior. During their last encounter with Dr. Jonathan Crane, his latest scheme involved a misty drug that gave him the overwhelming ability of suggestibility over his victims. They defeated him, however, and Tim devised a cure. He now swallowed it. If it worked on Scarecrow's drug, it just might work on the Happy Gas.

He reached out and put a hand to a wall, feeling suddenly dizzy. While it did work, the drug had one nasty side effect. It made the user dizzy, but only for a few moments. It worked much like cold medicine, but on a more rapid scale, holding back symptoms for the person to operate and to allow the person's mind to clear. While Batman had cures to most of Scarecrow's previous drugs, Tim didn't need to apply too much work to develop a cure to this new drug. He tweaked another drug and it worked—using chemical analyzes.

And Jason had been the genuine-pig for the few tests he needed to develop a workable antidote.

For the tests, Tim used a single word or short phrase not normally spoken in average conversion to "command" Jason to do something, and in response, he would give him twenty bucks every time the "command"—a word or short phrase was said. He had programmed this suggestion into Jason's mind purely for the tests, then "deprogrammed" Jason after he was finished. He used an involuntarily response reaction, brought on by the unconscious suggestibility from the drug. Once the antidote was administered, Jason didn't give Tim anymore money anymore.

Well, consciously no. But subconsciously, every time Jason visited the Manor, with that simple act, Tim would find twenty bucks left on his bed night table without fail. Little did Jason know, Tim had programmed something else within his mind that caused an involuntary reaction. Call it a control mechanism, but Tim called it funny. Was that sadistic? He debated that point. But in the end, he left it to play out.

The drug worked. Tim's mind cleared. Once the dizziness fully cleared, he then left to find Dick Grayson.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	14. Vile Villains

_**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**_

 _ **"VILE VILLAINS"**_

Damian informed Batman that Joker was somewhere in the basement with Jason and also that he had Harley Quinn in custody and their location. Batman told him to remain where he was as things had changed from the original plan. Once Drake helped "their friend", then Red Robin'll join Batman in confronting Joker and rescuing Jason. Batman also said he had contacted the Bludhaven Police and informed them of what was going on, but they were to remain on stand-by so not to spook Joker. In the mean time, Batman would deal with Joker solo. Damian acknowledged.

"So, Batman has you playing big touch guard dog? Bah, you're nothing more like a little puppy," Harley mocked, as she sat with her back against a wall her arms in front handcuffed. She had nothing better to do than wait until the police came to arrest her and take her to jail.

"Yeah, so what?" Damian (Robin) folded his arms across his chest. He guarded the door to the room, which appeared to be a moderately used storage closest for miscellaneous items with dim lighting. "We all have jobs to do."

"You know, you remind me of a bull dog—that face you make is so serious. You should learn to lighten up."

"With vile people like you around, I have no time to _lighten up_. My time is spent training for the next mission."

"Oh, c'mon!" she said sputtering out disbelief. "You must have some hobbies? The reason why I ask is because I'm interested. I don't know much about you unlike I do the other members of your Bat Clan. And I'm bored."

Robin scowled. "That's the whole part of a secret identity, you're not supposed to know anything about me. And that's how it'll stand." If she could see it, she'd see him rolling his eyes behind his mask. "You really are dumber than a sack of wet cement. I'm done talking now. Just sit there and shut up until the police come for you."

Harley pouted. "I'm not one to give up so easily, small fry," she said. Damian stared at her, unmoving. "You gotta have something else other than crime fighting, something in you personal life you enjoy doing? Okay, I won't ask you about your origin, and everyone has an origin story—even me. But judging by you" —she thought intensely for a moment— "you obviously have something to that makes you, let's see, smile." She paused for a moment, but then seemed to stare intently at Robin, as if sizing him up. "Animals…Yeah, I can see it. You're an animal lover!" Damian's body language jerked slightly. "What's your favourite animal?"

Damian didn't immediately answer, but he thought of Titus, his German Shepard/Great Dane mix. "Dogs," he said, almost on an unconscious level. He chastised himself for speaking. Had something inside him forced a mental barrier to come down, he wondered. Animals were a weakness of his. They were kinder than humans and they didn't judge. He reaffirmed his staunchness and snarled like a dog expressing his patented — _Tt_ — in silent protest of his own weakness. "I won't answer any more of your stupid ass questions. So, shut the hell up!"

"Oh, please…don't erect a wall. We're just talkin' 'ere! So, you like dogs? I'm a cat person myself."

Another slight jerk within his body language. Whenever he had a day off and Seline Kyle—Cat Woman—was away, he would often baby-sit her cats in her apartment secretly. Bruce didn't know, but Grayson did. He liked cats, too. He even had a pet cow and a turkey, both rescue animals. "Animals are better than humans," he expressed honestly. He grunted, but when it came to talking about animals, he always felt happy. "I also like drawing them."

"Oh? So, you like to draw?"

"Yeah, I have a sketch book. I enjoy it. Helps me relax. No stress involved."

"See? I knew we'd connect on some level. I like to draw, too—mostly dark things like ghostly demons or skulls." Damian mentioned that came from a demented mind and she agreed to a certain point. Everyone had different interests. She gave a slight glance at the small ventilation duct in the ceiling just above the door, then looked back. "So, tell me another one of your hobbies?"

Damian lowered his arms. Uncharacteristically, he felt a little more at ease at the moment. He felt his mind wasn't entirely focused, unguarded, and he wondered why. "Why do you hang around with Joker? He's a psychopath?"

"I've been thinking about going straight, but hey, everyone knows me—who'd hire me?"

"You have to think more positive," he said. "Use your talents for good. Don't waste your gifts or your life. You're such a beautiful woman." He slapped his mouth with a hard hand, abashed. He felt his face flush. The moment that came out of his mouth, he knew something was wrong. Was it the Happy Gas?

What was he thinking about when he said she was beautiful? He thought back to the erotica fanfiction he read. Selina Kyle's stories must've affected him more than he thought. Why now? No, they had also affected his dreams, and he had spoken to Grayson about it. Grayson said his "reaction" was normal for a boy his age. Normally when a person sleeps, their brain is completely open—no restrictions. Happy Gas played on that same concept, he bet, in the case of Grayson's recent backlash to Batman and his outrageous dancing.

He had to re-focus, concentrate harder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that," he said, he wanted to call Batman, anyone to relieve him, but then stopped himself. What would he say would be the reason? That he was distracted—his thoughts honed with attraction towards a pretty woman? His mind filled with lewd thoughts? Was he even old enough for that kind of thinking?

 _I'm Robin. Act like it! Stop it! Talk to Grayson about it when you get back!_

"Ah, that's sweet, sugar," Harley said. "But you're way too young for me. And it'll be like robbing the cradle if anything started. You should get yourself someone your age. But I'm flattered you think I'm beautiful."

x x x

The buzzsaw moved at a slow pace cutting its teeth through the table, this was probably Joker's way of savouring the kill. Slow and steady, wait for his victim to bath in their upcoming death.

And yet, the psychopathic villain wasn't even in the room. But a camera was mounted in the uppermost corner and aimed downwards. Jason was strapped down with leather straps by his wrists, ankles and waist. At first he thought the table was an old stylized metallic medical platform, it had the look of such, but then as the blade cut through and sawdust ejected from the sides, he saw it was actually wood designed to look like metal. Ikea crap, he thought.

The sound was deafening and his ears began to ring from the noise. But it wouldn't be long before something else hurt even more as the blade inched ever closer to his groin. He had seen horror flicks when this happening and it wasn't pretty. The only consolation was at least he had the Lazarus Pit water to help heal wounds. What he had, only helped on a relatively smaller scale, however. Having a buzzsaw slice through your lower region was beyond its normal healing properties in what small doses he had sent to him by Ra's al Ghul. He would need to bath in the pool completely to recover, to live again, then go out and have a liaison to make sure the "boys" worked properly.

This would be his second death if he wasn't rescued.

Batman once remarked death meant nothing to the Bat Family anymore because of the Lazarus Pit water, not since Damian was also revived after a fatal beating by the Heretic, an adult clone of himself.

But that didn't mean Jason had to accept his situation, he had to do something to stop this. " _JOKER! GET BACK IN HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN, YOU VILE, WHITE FACE, GROTESQUE SON OF A BITCH!_ " He shouted over the noise hoping his voice would garner some attention.

 _Speak of the devil and he shall come_ , Jason thought.

Joker was on the cell phone when he entered into the room, but he figured the villain was probably already on his way, in the corridor, when Jason shouted, because he appeared so quickly. Joker had his open ear plugged with a finger as if to hear the other on the other end of the phone over the noise. He obviously couldn't.

Joker mouthed something and then switched off the buzzsaw. The blade revved down and Jason breathed a sigh of relief, sawdust was all over Jason's pants. He couldn't hear the first couple of words spoken by Joker, but then Joker said, "Yes, yes…it's all going according to plan. All the money is safety secure in the untraceable numbered accounts your provided." —Jason opened his mouth to say something, but Joker raised a finger to hush him for a moment— "You're a very smart man, sir, a man of my own heart, and it has been pleasure working with you. Speak to you soon." The call ended. Joker had a flip phone, closed it, and then placed in a pants pocket.

Jason struggled against the leather binds, but nothing weakened. "So, who the hell was that?" he demanded.

"Ah, Jason, my boy…the end if nigh…" Joker said. "That was the original _Mr. Jack Filou_ , but that isn't his real name. He called me asking how the operation was proceeding. Even though I fully took over soon after it began, he calls me every once in a while to catch up on things; thoughtful man. It's been five long years since this all began, but after I told him the jig was up, and Batman was on his way, he and I agreed it was time to end things. So…"

Boss came into the room holding something under a small drop sheet. Joker then revealed it. Jason didn't need to have it explained to him that it was a bomb. "Sixteen of these little guys have been planted throughout the club, all in strategic locations," Joker explained. "The main device, the main hub, so to speak, a slightly larger version, will be taken to the Operations Centre, and only I will hold the remote to disarm them."

"You'll murder hundreds of innocent people! You sadistic bastard!" Jason struggled fiercely against the binds. "Get me out of these things and let's go one-on-one. I owe yo so much pain for what you've caused me over the years!"

"Tsk, tsk, Jason, you're always so emotional. You need to light up. Enjoy your life. Don't be a such sourpuss. Look at me, happiness always brings a smile to my face and I don't even need my new Happy Gas to get it." Joker laughed loud and lengthy. He then reached into his other pants pocket and pulled out a small medical case. Unzipping it, he brought out what looked to be a surgical cutting scalpel. He crossed the floor and leaned over Jason's face. "This may not cut to the bone, but you've annoyed me that you removed my brand. Time to sign my name again. Like I said, Jason" —Joker became deadly serious— "You'll always be mine!"

Joker indicated with a nod for Boss to come over. The big man put the bomb down and then went over to the head of the platform and held Jason's head. Jason knew what was coming and he struggled violently. Boss gave Jason a hard pound to the stomach which knocked his breath away, then he held the sides of Jason's head tightly.

When the blade began to cut his skin just underneath his right eye in the form of a familiar J, Jason didn't scream, but he cursed louder than he ever had before.

" _I'll you kill you, you son-of-a-bitch!…I SWEAR!_ "

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	15. Red Robin vs Dick Grayson Part 1

_**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**_

 _ **"Red Robin vs Dick Grayson — Part 1"**_

Before Red Robin left to enter the throngs of people on the dance floor to retrieve Dick Grayson, he put some earplugs in to muffle the loud deafening music. He also switched on his night vision in his mask, so he could see better within the darkened atmosphere. However, due to the continuous flashes of lights that made the club appear like something out of the 1970s Disco era, he switched the contrast to grayscale. This way the flashes wouldn't suddenly blind him. Instead, the lights would just appear as slightly darkened added lines.

He had never needed to use grayscale vision before in the field, but he had practiced using it in War Room with the stimulator in the Bat Cave. It felt weird losing all colour within his eyes, but he started to get used to it the more he practised, and now he knew what it felt like for people who were colour blind. For his own interest, he had researched colour blindness on the internet and found there were at least two-million people who had the condition and most of them were males. It was the simple fact that those people had a colour deficiency within the iris of the pupil.

Now it was time to put all his practise training into real time use. If only the world would use grayscale in everyday life, he thought, then there'll be a lot less racial profiling. But that was not for him to say. Prejudice was prejudice, and no matter how many understood that the colour of a person's skin shouldn't matter, it was their way of thinking that was the main factor. "Think differently", should be the world's slogan. But if you get one real a-hole, then there's nothing a person can say to change their mind. There were a lot of a-holes on media websites spurting their hate speech.

As Red Robin pushed through the crowd, everyone seemed to be having a great time, and they all got along. They all appeared happy and were dancing to their hearts content. Then came the bump, and one guest of the club seemed to get a little upset that Red Robin had invaded his dance space. The man shoved Red Robin and that in turn caused him to bump others. He apologized, but obviously with the loud music, no one could hear him.

Two bouncers then stormed through the crowd, and Red Robin stopped, saw them, and backed off a little. Compared to him, they were the size of large brick houses with barrel chests and muscles that were larger than his head.

Red Robin raised his hands in a gesture of "easy-fellas". They probably thought he was causing trouble. Red Robin was amazed at just how many other people were dressed up in costumes and other unusual attire, so his costume was nothing special. It felt like he was at some sort of Halloween party, in fact. A lot of people were dressed like they were at comic-con or in a Japanese anime convention— _Otaku_ , he thought the term was. The owner even invited everyone to do such on the nightclub's website.

He knew about " _Otaku_ ", because once he and the guys dressed up to have a little fun at an Anime convention in Gotham—he really wanted to attend one and Dick agreed to join him, also interested. Dick called it a "social experiment" to see if they could blend in with the crowd in their own costumes. Dick said he did the same thing when he, Batman and Superman visited a "Bat Burger" joint. Tim knew Dick was just a kid at heart.

When Dick agreed, that also persuaded Damian to come—or rather he insisted he'd join them. Tim figured the kid was just jealous because he didn't want anyone else to have fun with Grayson alone, like Dick was his property or something? Like a pet dog.

Jason also agreed to come, but he didn't dress up. But at the convention, everyone complemented him on his two-tone hair, it was like as a version of _Shiro_ , in the new Voltron animated series Tim was familiar with, because of his white tuff of hair. Tim knew who he was, but Jason didn't have a clue, and he had to explain the character to Jason. That just made Tim a nerd, in Jason's eyes, he later said.

But they all ended up having a good time.

On the dance floor, surrounded by hundreds of clubbers, one bouncer pointed and indicated that Red Robin should vacant the dance floor. Red Robin counterpointed to Dick, and loudly said, "I'm trying to get my friend, fellas. He's not acting like himself. I don't want any trouble guys. Let me through! I'll haul him off, and they you can go back doing what you do! By the way—you know guy named Jason?"

The two powerhouses didn't seem to care who he was looking for, to them Red Robin was a troublemaker. Unlike the face Damian made when he was staunch-looking much like a bulldog, these two guys had the facial expressions of two mad pit-bulls with nasty attitudes. Red Robin didn't wish to hurt them, but if they weren't going to stand in his way to get to Dick Grayson, then he'd have to try to push through.

One bouncer grabbed him by the shoulder, and Red Robin grabbed the man's arm, twisted it, and then performed a counter-leg-sweep, that knocked the man off balance and onto his back to the floor. The other bouncer was quick to react and went to grab Red Robin too, but with a swirl-twist, the teen easily got around the man, and kneed him in the rear, forcing him to fall forward to his hands and knees.

Seemingly, both bouncers got up at the same time and charged him. It was a simple enough maneuver to avoid them and they crashed head-on into one another, bumping heads. Red Robin then took the opportunity to put the matter to rest and collided their heads together again, putting them to sleep on the floor. Red Robin dusted off his gloves and then smelled one glove. One of them had something pungent in his hair, some sort of bad hair cologne. But he had no time to debate what fowl thing it reminded him of.

Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder and he was forcefully swung around.

Facing him was none other than Dick Grayson, but he was half naked and wearing only a pair of black speedos, that seems slightly too tight for his muscular frame, budging up front. Okay, this was strange, Tim thought. _Why is he almost naked? Did the Happy Gas also make him revive his stripteasing time at that club, too?_

Happy to see him, Red Robin smiled, said loudly: "Hey, I'm so glad—"

Then Dick decked him in the face, as if taking it upon himself to defend the two defeated bouncers. Since they were employed by his friend Paul Hudson and had just seemingly been attacked by a strange person in a mask, Tim saw his point of view. Dick had originally come to the club to work as a bouncer, was this re-engaging in the job?

Red Robin put a hand to his masked face and admitted that that was a really hard punch. He had felt one of Dick's punches before, but this was the hardest. But there was no blood. Suddenly instinct took over, and he found himself with his arms up, defending himself from a series of more punches.

Red Robin safely backed away, his training kicked in, and against Dick, off all people. He knew Dick couldn't possibly hear him, but he tried to persuade him to stop. However, the loud music prevented any reasonable conversion from being heard, and Dick looked to be in some sort of daze as if being controlled. Tim thought about using a Batarang to destroy one of the large sound woofers on the stage to stop the music, but then realized that that would be a bad idea; that would simply cause an unwanted chaos. And besides, he didn't think the music had anything to do with Dick's condition. It was the Happy Gas, Tim was sure of it.

His mission was to retrieve Dick Grayson, but for whatever reason, Dick acted like he didn't know Red Robin, as if he was brainwashed. It felt like to Tim that he was back in the Scarecrow's warehouse fighting against the minion the villain pitted against him after he doused the man with a large spray of his latest hallucination drug. But according to Harley, this wasn't supposed to happen with the Happy Gas. It was supposed to give the infected feelings of elation with sensations of joy, not cause them to attack others.

 _So, does this mean Dick likes to fight? That it makes him happy?_ Tim wondered.

The crowd appeared to give them space, encircling them, like they were forming an arena of sport around them, and some guests even hollered and cheered, egging Dick on, as if he and Tim were a part of the night's entertainment—a special event. One person even labeled the fight: "Naked Dude vs Condom Head!" _Okay,_ Tim decided. It was time to re-think his costume choice and change his mask back to the simple adhesive version over the eyes.

Red Robin ducked as Dick tried to hammer home a heavy right cross, then Dick followed up with a wild uppercut, that Red Robin just narrowly whiffed, arching backwards. It was obvious, however, the Happy Gas was affecting Dick to a weird extreme, that it now turned a deadly turn. The sensation to "having fun" had apparently taken a backseat. Dick was now fighting to protect the clubbers from what he saw as an attacking enemy who wished to harm them.

And Tim Drake knew, when Dick meant business, there was little, but no one could do to beat him.

 _Fine._ Red Robin could play the same game. But he was conflicted in fighting his older adopted brother. After a quick series of more punches by Dick, even a sharp knee that could've crushed his solar plexus if he had not just narrowly avoided it, it was time to get serious.

It wouldn't be easy, but he'd have to defeat Dick Grayson— _Nightwing_ —and the first Robin, trained by Bruce Wayne— _Batman_ , if he— _Red Robin_ —was to save Dick from himself.

The nightclub was now a more dangerous place to be.

 ** _To Be Continued…_**


	16. Red Robin vs Dick Grayson Part 2

_**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**_

 _ **"Red Robin vs Dick Grayson — Part 2"**_

Stepping back to give himself room to fight, Red Robin readied himself, and got into a Muay Thai defensive posture with his hands in equal lateral position from the other. He twisted his body and shifted sideways to defend against any and all kicks and assorted attacks. And with that last attack, it was most assured that Dick Grayson was using a loose form of Muay Thai thrown into his normal fighting style. He wanted to match the style.

Suddenly, Dick switched from his currently fighting style and Red Robin had to avoid a high kick. Lucky his hand was in a suitable position and he was able to swat Dick's leg down. The force caused Dick to temporarily loose his balance and he had to counteract with a somersault. But then Dick quickly came up with both hands in the air within Red Robin's defence and that left Red Robin's mid-section momentarily exposed.

Dick Grayson, quick as ever, with his own fighting instinct, used that moment to switch his tactics yet again to a fighting style known as Sambo. He knew so many different fighting styles taught to him by Bruce over the years. He grabbed Red Robin around the wrist, literally clutching him like a bear and using Red Robin's own weight against him. Dick swept a leg underneath Red Robin, forced him off balance—he was still in his Muay Thai pose—and flipped him over his shoulder. Red Robin crashed to the floor with a heavy thud, his breath leaving him with a deep exhale.

Moments later, with a quick recovery, Red Robin rolled to flee Dick Grayson's reach, then stopped, and got to one knee. He felt his right ribs and a soreness began. His suit only protected him so much. _That was for real,_ he thought. Dick was actually trying to hurt him. And yet, that was the way Bruce taught all of them—never let your opponent get used to your abilities and fighting techniques because most assuredly they'll always formulate a counter-measure. And Dick Grayson was one of the best fighting technicians Tim Drake knew.

However, it was kind of strange to be fighting the man he looked up to most in his underwear. But like the ancient gladiators of Rome who fought naked, Dick was not restricted right now by clothing of any sort, and with his abnormal flexibility, he probably felt light as a feather. And that was even more dangerous for Tim. A more flexible Dick Grayson was like a Praying Mantis in his natural habitant, nothing defeated it.

He quickly psyched himself up. _Two can play at this game_ , he thought.

Red Robin detached his cape and tossed it to the floor. Then he unlatched his belt and deceased the weight even further. He must have just lost thirty pounds. Without their added weight, he could now more freely.

He switched his fighting style and delivered a one-two-punching-combo and a series of kicks set in the style of Karate with a little bit of Judo thrown in to mix it up. However, Dick Grayson blocked them easily, striking down with his hands, pushing away kicks, and avoided further strikes by now dancing around him, once again changing-up his fighting style to Muay Thai, and preforming was what commonly known as the wai kru ram muay. It was basically a ritual dance, but it was also a way to stay mobile from an opponent's attack.

It was at this moment that Drake came to the realization that he doubt he was going to defeat the man who had vastly more fighting experience, technical skill and flexibility, than he could ever dream of possessing.

But then he smiled. The answer to defeat Dick Grayson came to him in a flash, so to speak.

While Jason had his brutal strength, Damian had his background training with the League of Assassins, and Dick was born into a family of acrobats, Tim had something neither one of them had, and it was time to use that talent to his advantage—he could completely outwit his opponents every time with it.

He readied himself for the fight.

He thought quickly and formulated a plan of attack. Dick continued to "dance" around him—the crowd they had accumulated cheered and hollered—and Tim turned in conjunction while Dick encircled him.

Then Dick attacked, switched once more to another martial arts, and went with Ju-Jitsu this time, delivering a really high kick that, if Tim hadn't leaned back, would've probably taken his head off. There was a lot of power behind the attack, too. However, as Tim knew, Dick was extremely flexible, and without notice, Dick fell into a splits on the floor, and went to hammer home a punch to Tim's groin. He whacked Dick's hand away and twisted in mid-air, following through in a karate manoeuvre that brought about instant gratification when it came to countering—he used an upper kick to clock Dick in the chin, and this forced Dick face down to the floor.

Dick recovered, but looked momentarily stunned holding his chin, wiping blood from the side of his mouth. The kick must have caused his teeth to tear in his lips with the impact. Dick flipped up to his feet in perfect form. It was then he paused, blinking for a moment. Had that jarred something? Awakened Dick from his "brainwashing" caused by the Happy Gas? It was short lived, but it was something to work with, Tim mused. Did pain counter the Happy Gas?

Dick scowled and went straight into a defensive posture.

Dick often talked to his enemies to distract them, but with all the loud music, Tim couldn't follow that. And with all these people jeering Dick on, it was hard to establish another advantage. Tim was an expert in computers, and he could quickly analysis algorithms, system code, and other related data. The same thing could be used with fighting, in theory. If you knew a person's fighting ability, agility, flexibility, and mindset, then you could literally predict their next move. While he could do that, that form of predicability went directly against Batman's teachings, and Dick knew this, even on an instinctive level. So, if Dick kept changing his fighting styles—how could he be defeated?

He thought of Dick like a computer program and the answer immediately came to him—he had to plant a virus. He had to somehow disrupt Dick's interior thinking, even instinctively, with something outside the box. If the Happy Gas was causing crossed-wiring within Dick's brain, then he had to cut the wire, per se, and re-write the junctions, adding a new pathway for information to flow. Basically, he had to force Dick to wake-the-hell-up!

And use the possible weakness he just learned about. _It was dirty, it was under-handed—but it just might work!  
_

"Hey, Dick—" His mentor appeared to be in no mood to talk, as he shouted. "Barbara called…" he said, putting his hands over his mouth to get better distance. "She says she's pregnant!"

Tim knew both Barbara and Dick had an off-and-on relationship, sort of a 'friends with benefits' thing going on, and he used that to his advantage. Anything to do with Barbara, Dick suddenly had tunnel-vision.

This instantly halted everything and Dick seemed to freeze on the spot, his eyes wider than Tim had ever seen them. Dick already had a daughter with Starfire, a Tamaran princess—Boy, Dick got all the gorgeous girls—whom he had partnered with during his Teen Titan days, but over the years, despite trying, Dick and Barbara Gordon had never been able to have kids. And Dick was never shy in saying how much they tried.

Dick's mouth went agape, and that was Tim's opening—attacking hard and fast!

He lunged at Grayson and pounced on him like a wild cat, pinning him to the ground. Then he began pummelling him with right and left hooks to the face, one after the another—in repeated context.

"Stop it, Tim! Stop it! Why are you attacking me?" Dick shouted, suddenly aware of Tim on top of him. But Tim didn't relent. _Pain, that was the ticket._ That was how to counteract the Happy Gas. It was a morbid way of thing, but in order to wake a person up from their fog, you needed to shock the happiness away.

Dick pushed Tim off, wiped his face of blood. But Tim followed with a wicked roundhouse kick to his mentor's face, forcing Dick to recoil. Tim then further followed through with a knee to Dick's solar plexus similar to what Dick had tried to do him in the beginning.

Dick folded over. And with a final karate chop to the back of the neck, the fight was over. He didn't let Dick recover and he didn't respond to any of his cries to stop. Dick Grayson collapsed to the floor unconscious. And for a moment, Red Robin felt rotten. It was like, for this one moment, he had become the thing he hated the most. He had beat his opponent senseless despite his cries for mercy. But he shook it off. It had to be done.

It was a nasty way to win, but if he hadn't distracted Dick by tricking him, then the fight may've gone on for a very long time, and he needed to go help Batman. Dick wasn't a weak man, by far. But when it came to Barbara Gordon, Tim knew, he would give his life to save her. The Lazarus Pit restored her ability to walk again after her spine was crushed and she was in a wheelchair for a time, Dick stuck by her side every step of the way. But she was Dick's everything—his first love—and knowing Dick, he would go through hell's fire to protect what he cared about most.

The crowd cheered like drunken college frat boys, and the same person who had labelled the fight "Naked Guy vs Condom Head", shouted, " _Awwwwright!_ What an awesome battle! The dick won!"

The irony of it was, no, _the Dick_ had lost.

Yes, it was time for a costume switch, Tim admitted. He had only recently switched from his other costume to the full head shroud because he had let his hair grow longer, and also, for the reason Victor Freeze had used his Ice Acid to melt the cross-straps of his other costume and chest armour. Until they were repaired, he had to wear his alternative. But after this, and this complete stranger giving him the nickname Condom Head, it was definitely time for a hair trim and to go back to his other costume. He'd double his efforts to repair everything in quick order.

Tim went over and picked up his cape, clipped it around his neck and then clamped his belt back on. Then he lifted Dick onto his shoulder, collected what clothes of Dick's he could find and carried him off the dance floor. He'd take him back to the storage room Damian was guarding Harley Quinn in and then let him sleep off his beat-down.

As he surfed through the crowd, he made his way back to the storage room. He didn't think the door would be locked when he arrived, so when he tried the handle he couldn't gain access. He rapped on the door, but there was no answer. "Hey Robin? You there? It's me…Red…let's me in! Mission accomplished. Hey, Robin!"

Suddenly the door swung open forcefully. Damian stood there, his face red and flushed. "What!"

"Don't you what me!" It was a repeat of last time—Damian had knocked and Drake had opened forcefully, saying the same thing—but only this time the roles were reversed.

It was then Drake noticed something odd about Damian's costume, he wasn't wearing his cape and the collar of his Robin suit was partially unzipped up front. He immediately looked to Harley. Her clown hat with the droopy pompoms was partially removed from her head, pushed back, showing a portion of her blond hair underneath; her lipstick was also partially smeared. And despite it being a shocking thought, he thought it.

There was a ventilation duct leading directly into the storage room seen from the corridor. With such an enclosed space—how much had both breathed in of the Happy Gas with the door closed? When she was in the storage room with Drake, and tried to seduce him, Harley said she was beginning to feel the antidote that Joker made wear off.

"Oh, my god! Are you serious? She's old enough to be your…" —Harley gave him a hard stare, as if to say, " _Be very careful what you say next_ "— "…your older sister!" He put Dick Grayson down gently inside the room, and gave Harley a scolding look. "Harley, he's only thirteen years old!"

Harley was still handcuffed as she got to her feet from her knees, Damian quickly addressed his improper attire putting his cape back on and zipping up his costume. Luckily his mask was still on.

"Relax! Nothing happened…" she began. "Well, nothing of any real note." She looked to Damian. "But, you're going to be one hellva lady killer when you grow up, hot stuff." She winked at him. "Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

Red Robin's mouth dropped in shock. Damian looked around as if trying to avoid his odd stare. His face was so flushed, beet red. He put a hand to his face, embarrassed. "I have to leave, _now!_ " He actually bumped Drake as he quickly left the room to the outside corridor. Drake has never seen Damian so flustered and out of sorts.

Red Robin told Harley to behave herself as he shut the door, both of them would be outside. He left Dick unconscious on the floor. Damian leaned against the wall in the corridor as Drake saw him, then Damian put his hands to his face and slid down the wall to his butt. "I'm so ashamed," he said. "How could that happen! You're going to tell, father, aren't you? He'll be so mad! I'll be grounded for a month or worse." He looked at Drake. "There you go…You finally have something to hold over me. Go ahead and gloat. Go on…"

Drake stood there with his hands on his hips. But he wasn't upset. Instead he smiled. "Trust me, Damian. Your secret is safe with me. No, I'm not going to tell Bruce. You're growing up and you are at the age where certain feelings will arise. Well, if you take what happened after you read Selina's stories—you're already half way there." He smirked.

Damian gave Drake a hard look. "That's not funny, but I get the point," he said, getting to his feet.

Drake extended a hand to Damian. "We're brothers. We're here for one another, not to mock. I know whenever you have a problem you often go to Dick for advise, but I've dated a few girls—you remember Stephane Brown; Tamm Fox; Joanne Wilkins" —Damian grunted under his breath— "Well, you get the picture. I may only be a few years older than you, but if you need a friend to talk to about anything—girls and such—you can always come to me, too."

Damian shook Drake's hand. "Thanks, Drake. Thanks descent of you."

Drake reached to his belt and popped open a pouch, taking out a pill. He explained it was the antidote to Scarecrow's latest hallucinogenic drug. "I took one earlier. They counter Dr. Jonathan's Crane's latest concoction and Joker's new Happy Gas," he said, and handed Damian the pill. "Be careful, the potency is high, so you may feel dizzy at first. But then your mind'll clear. It definitely helped me to think clearly when I fought Dick."

Damian gulped down the pill without water. Indeed, Damian felt dizzy for a few moments, but then the fog of the gas cleared and he was ready to get down to business again. It was then Drake explained to Damian what occurred on the dance floor with Dick. Damian was initially shocked, but in the state his mentor was in, he had no doubt Grayson had been defeated by a superior fighter with a clearer head.

"Do you think he'll remember anything? It acts like alcohol," Damian said.

"Unsure, and when have you ever drank booze?"

"I've been around. I had a life before joining father and the rest of you guys. And despite my age at the time, Ra's and Mother showed me things when I was a member of the League of Assassins that will make your head spin. Harley wasn't the first girl I kissed or did anything else with…"

Drake was shocked again.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	17. To Save Jason

_**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**_

 _ **"To Save Jason"**_

Fact was often stranger than fiction. The axiom never stood truer than at this moment as a simple child's game planned to decide who guarded Harley and who went to help Batman to fight Joker and to save Jason. Damian had suggested Rock, Paper, Scissors, and Tim agreed. Harley was becoming more and more needy for companionship and neither teen wanted to go back inside the storage room with her.

When a single game didn't decide the outcome, two out of three wins became the decider, then three out of five. Drake won every game, but when Damian failed to concede, Tim called the younger a poor sport. "You can stay out in the hall if you prefer; if you don't want to go back inside?" Drake compromised. Damian agreed, but then argued that Harley could open the door from the inside. So far, she hadn't attempted to do so. So, fusing the handle locking mechanism with a mini-heater, Drake put Damian's fears aside. Damian still frowned, but told Drake to get going.

As Drake left, he shouted back, "Stay safe!" And Damian replied, "Screw you, too!" Drake laughed, as he entered the freight elevator and took it to the basement.

It took less than ten-seconds for the heavy elevator to reach the bottom. But the moment the double doors opened, he saw Batman running straight at him. He momentarily froze, as Batman bolted into the elevator as gun fire erupted from behind him, three thugs dressed all in black with semi-automatics.

Batman barrelled into Red Robin literally pushing the teen to one side of the elevator, pressing the button for the doors to close as shots embedded themselves in the back wall of the lift. Batman pressed the emergency stop and all door function ceased, shutting down any access from the call buttons outside. The bells rang, but it gave Batman a moment's reprieve. The thugs banged at the door, even fired. But the doors were think enough to protect them.

"Did I miss anything?" Red Robin asked sarcastically.

Batman gave him an incredulous look. "Sometimes you're worse than Dick with those quips," he said, readying a Batarang. Drake readied his own. Unlike the standard "knockout" Batarang, these has a special gas canister within that would render those subjected to it unconscious within seconds.

However, as the thugs were right at the doors, the moment it opened the duo would be attacked. So, Batman took point. He knew his armour would protect him from even a short burst of point-blank gun fire. Keeping Red Robin behind, his mouth covered, he pressed the emergency button once more, and the moment the double doors began to open, he tossed the Batarang through the crack, the weapon striking the floor, and the gas began to disburse. Red Robin did the same. Batman shut the doors, gripping them with both hands, forcing them closed faster.

There was the sound of coughing from the other side and then three heavy thuds. Both heroes held their breath as Batman opened the doors. The gas didn't take long to filter away. Its effects were immediate, but it had a limited stay. So after about fifteen-seconds, it was safe to breath again. But the thugs would be out for hours.

"I always liked that weapon, easy and effective," Red Robin said.

"Likewise," Batman said. "It was one of my very first weapons to fight crime. You know my cardinal rule."

"Never kill, I know. But Dick sometimes says, and to quote: _Sometimes there's simply noting you can do…nothing_. He says you taught him that lesson a lot long time ago."

Batman nodded. "And he's right. Sometimes there is nothing you can do. But there is always an exception to every rule. If it can be avoided, avoid it — that's my lesson to you. Add it to the Cardinal Rule list. I know there is one."

Drake agreed. "Check. I'll also add it to the Robin Handbook," he said, then he chided himself for mentioning it. At the moment, Drake knew that he shouldn't have made mention of the special handbook. It was just one of this spur of the moments that Tim spoke of it. Dick had written it to pass down to every Robin. It dealt with coping methods of the job, passed down lessons of life, and how to deal with Batman's ever changing moods—in every colour pen imaginable, scribbled every which way. Nothing was uniform. But every note had a reason.

Batman breathed sour under his breath. "A Robin Handbook?"

Drake sighed. "Yeah, Dick wrote it to pass down to every Robin. I wasn't supposed to mention it. Damn it!"

"Show it to me later, I'll be very interested to see what Dick has written about me over the years and what lessons he's handed down to you. And more importantly, what lessons he's learned from me. Although, throughout the years, I've seen him break mostly rule and lesson I've handed down to him."

With the corridor clear, Tim asked, letting Batman's remark hang without reply, "Did you manage to find Jason?"

"No," Batman said back, "but I know where he is. He's in the third room on the right down the next corridor, around the corner. I tracked the tracer in his boot. Then I was attacked by those three thugs."

Red Robin took a closer look at the unconscious thugs. "I know these uniforms, they're both club Bouncers. Two of the same guys but with much bigger builds attacked me when I fought Dick." He told Batman what had had happened with Dick, fighting him on the dance floor. He suspected Dick was under a heavy influence of what Harley Quinn called Happy Gas. He explained that, too. "The antidote I developed for Scarecrow's latest hallucinogenic drug seems to counteract the effect. Dick's unconscious in the same storage room as Harley, guarded by Damian at the moment. Bruce, she's nuts. She said Joker gave her an antidote for the Happy Gas, but it began to wear off when I was guarding her. She attacked me and then tried to seduce me, she got pretty close."

"Next time, put on more body armour, always think layers; difficult for the vixens to penetrate," Batman said dryly. Red Robin knew his mentor's sometimes flat sense of humour and snorted a laugh. Many a time, sexy vilenesses tried to penetrate his armour for their own selfish whims. He seemed to be an attractant for invites for sexual endeavours.

Well, that's how he got Damian.

Red Robin was directed to discard the thugs weapons and tie them up. Red Robin did so, then returned to Batman.

Red Robin brought up his left arm and activated a device that looked like a simple wrist watch, and with a single touch, brought up a 3D semantics map he had downloaded from the city archive on their way to the club. The map projected blue from a small unit in the device, he then instructed it to detect body temperature. "We have no more thugs in the corridors, no security of any kind. The only body heat I'm detecting is our own and one in the room you described." He leaned in closer. "Jason seems to be on his back and his movements are erratic, like he struggling."

"How so?"

"Unsure, I guess we'll find out." Red Robin went to turn the corner, looking at his device, when Batman suddenly yanked him back as a huge blast of sonic firepower came their way and destroyed most of the corner wall. Red Robin felt on his butt as Batman hugged the wall. Another large blast hit the back wall. "What the hell was that?"

But Batman couldn't give him an answer at the moment. He quickly risked a peak around the damaged corner and saw a big man fitted head to toe in a super-conductive armour wielding a large blast cannon with a wire attached to a backpack. With all that firepower, it was no doubt the man had to have a cooling system building into it, which may have explained why Red Robin's device didn't pick up the man's heat signature.

Another blast came their way and Batman etched further back. The impact took off more of the corner wall, and like a father-figure he tried to be, he held an arm back to hold Red Robin behind him and away from danger. The move came to no surprise to Tim. Bruce occasionally did this whenever he had to stop short while driving. When Bruce first did it to Damian, Tim recalled, Damian thought it was an attack, and retaliated. Damian had to be told it was for his own safety, and to this day, it was a running gag with the others. Jason would often stop short and put hand out to halt Damian before crossing a street. Damian didn't have much of a sense of humour.

"He's big," Batman said. "And he's armed to the teeth."

"Can't we just incapacitate him like the others?" Red Robin indicated the unconscious thugs on the floor. Batman said no, that he was wearing a mask. After the blast from the cannon, the man's heat signature still wasn't present, Tim saw on his device, but the weapon's signature was bright red, its residue surrounding the man with a warm aurora.

"Hey Batman!" the armoured man called out. "Time isn't on your side, caped crusader. There's no way you can stop the Joker. He has this entire place rigged to blow at a moment's notice. And I'm here to prevent any interference!"

"Then you're a fool, who-ever-you-are," Batman said back. "That psychopath doesn't give a damn about you!"

"Yeah!" Red Robin chimed in. "The odds have been stacked in our favour before and we've walked out of the fire!" Batman put up a hand to silence the teen. Then Red Robin said normally, "A bomb or bombs, that would fit Joker's M.O. He's finished here. My research indicates he's sucked the nightclub dry."

Batman acknowledged. Then returned his attention back to the armoured man. He spoke to the man blindly, he had no intention of sticking his head around the corner again with that firepower. "If you don't let us through, you'll die too!"

"I'm already dead," the man said. "I just got a call from my doctor about an hour ago, I have terminal cancer." There was a momentary silence, neither Batman nor Red Robin had a response for that tragic revelation. "But at least my family is set for life. The Joker paid me a fortune for my part in this scheme."

Batman still didn't know who the man was, but he felt a small ping of sympathy for him. Anyone who was touched by cancer was a fighter in his eyes and a hero in their own rite. As Bruce Wayne, he had donated millions of dollars to charities to help medical research fight cancer. Results indicated good medical data, but for some, the news was not so good. Sometimes there was nothing you could do…nothing, and on that, Dick was absolutely correct.

"I'll see what can be done to help you," Batman said, as if only to buy time.

"Nothing can help me now. I took care of this place for over five years as head of Security. My blood, sweet and tears are in the bones of this club. The damn thing was a money pit from the start and that idiot Paul Hudson had no idea. Joker and his crony Steve Kyle fudged the books to make it look like it was a booming success. In reality, it was shit! Everyone was overworked and severely under paid for all the work we endured."

Red Robin snapped his fingers. "I think that's Johnny Hogg! I saw his Facebook profile online when I was researching everyone who works here. It says he's worked at _The Awakening_ nightclub as Head of Security for five and half years. He's a big guy and muscular. He's not married, but he has three daughters,and his parents are still alive. They call him "Boss", one commenter posted, because of some old tv show back before my time."

"Impressive," Batman said, regarding the information. Now he had something to work with, to bargain with. But first, he needed to get that weapon away from Johnny Hogg.

He knew a Batarang wouldn't stop the man, but he did have something more powerful that might. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, he pulled out what looked like miniature ball bearings, three of them. They were synthetic inverted explosive devices. Their size had just enough explosive power to incapacitate Hogg to give Batman the time he needed to disarm the man. They were similar to sonic explosives.

Red Robin knew exactly what they were and stood back.

With a flick of a wrist, Batman sent all three ball bearings around the corner, down the corridor towards Johnny Hogg. Once they hit a solid surface like a wall, they would detonate, sending out a sonic reverberation that would disorient the man.

"Shut your eyes and cover your eyes, Tim," Batman directed. Both did.

Suddenly, sonic explosions rocked the corridor, and Johnny Hogg screamed. Then a massive blast sounded like it came from his weapon. Hogg's sudden disorientation caused it to fire upwards, which brought the ceiling partially down upon him. Batman looked around the corner. Johnny Hogg was buried underneath the rumble. But when he looked more closely with Red Robin in tow, there was something else. Johnny Hogg's face was gone. The blast from the cannon had seared it right off along with half his skull. Brain matter, what was left, was exposed and oozing out of his skull, swimming in a pool of blood, saturating along the floor all around his body.

"Ew," Red Robin remarked.

"At least he didn't have to die from terminal cancer," Batman said rather coldly. "But he was partnered with Joker. He got what he deserved. Come on, let's go find Jason. Last you mentioned, he looked to be in trouble."

"Um, right," Red Robin said, stepping gingerly around the body.

They ran down the rest of the corridor to the third room on the right and Batman shouldered it open. Here, they found Jason shrugging with leather bindings on what looked like a medical platform against an on-coming buzzsaw that was slowly creeping up between his legs. And there was only so far he Jason could pull himself away from it.

" _SHUT IT OFF! SHUT IT OFF!_ " he shouted over the loud noise.

Red Robin ran to the control box attached to the elbow arm jettisoning out of the ceiling and depressed the OFF switch. The blade revived down, the sides of the buzzsaw scraping against the inner edges of the table. Jason breathed a deep sigh of relief as Batman cut the bindings with a knife. He started with his legs first, then the wrist strap, ending with the wrists. Jason slid back, removing his legs from anywhere near what could've become his introduction to a Soprano/Operatic career or the rest of his life carrying a bag to house his urine extracts.

Jason slid off the table, Batman gave him a sturdy hold until he was able to steady himself. Jason again breathed out a sign of relief. "I've never been one to thank you for coming to my rescue, but thank you—Bruce, Tim—you're both life-savers. If you had come even a second later, I'd be Jewish now." Meaning, Jewish men were often circumcised during infancy. He was no baby, but he knew there'll be a lot of crying going on.

"Glad you're okay." Then Red Robin gasped when he saw Jason's face, pointing. "Did Joker do that?"

Jason wiped the blood from the right side of his face, looked at his hand. "If I get a reaction like that from you, Timmy, then I don't have to see it to know it's pretty bad," he said. "Yeah, Joker carved my face like a pumpkin, branding me again. I'll need more sessions with the Lazarus Pit water to remove it."

"Where's Joker?" Batman insisted.

"Unsure, probably in Ops? He jetted as soon as the shooting started with an explosive device in hand. He has sixteen more bombs planted throughout the club. He has the remote detonator. Joker had three Bouncers guarding me down here. Watch out for Boss Hogg, that traitor's down he's somewhere down here, too!"

"We encountered him," Red Robin said. "He's dead." He also explained Hogg had told them that his doctor revealed he had terminal cancer, and he quickly gave Jason a low down on his family online profile. The "villain" now had a human quality to his death. Jason was not one for sympathy, but Hogg was a good guy on the surface. It was just a shame his life ended so tragically. "We'll decide later on what to tell the police about him."

Jason agreed. But he had helped Joker for years steal under Paul Hudson's noise. The man had been dirty.

"I want you to go help Damian, Jason," Batman ordered. "Tim and I will go after Joker."

"He's guarding Harley at the moment whose trapped in a storage closest," Tim said. "Take the freight elevator up to the main floor and down the hallway, you can't miss him. Dick's also in there with her, but he's unconscious. We sort of tussled on the dance floor, he attacked me, and I won. He's currently sleeping off a major dose of Joker's new Happy Gas. I'll explain more later. Oh, and if you can find him a new set of clothes, that would help. He's not fully dressed. Oddly enough, he was wearing nothing but a pair of speedos when I fought him."

Jason didn't need anymore explanation really. "Fine, okay. Go get that bastard for me, Bruce! I owe him a good killing!" Jason rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. Cardinal Rule #1: We don't kill. It's just a figure of speech." Maybe…

 ** _To Be Continued…_**


	18. Sadistic and Crazed

_**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**_

 _ **"Sadistic And Crazed"**_

Joker pulled Paul Hudson's blonde hair. Paul prided himself in it always being stylized and proper, but now it was tossed around as if badly permed. Joker had also taken his glasses away and broke them in front of him. They were mostly for show anyway, he had good eye sight. But at the moment, Paul wished he couldn't see the ghastly face that stared down at him. Joker's face reminded him off that horrific clown from the Stephen King novel.

Hudson's hands were bound behind him in a simple backrest chair as his "Captain Kirk" chair was used to sit a bomb. He was also restricted from moving by way of a large piece of electrical wire Joker had ripped out from lower console junction box within the Operation Centre, wrapping it around Paul's chest, quite tightly. It hurt and restricted breathing, and with Paul's heart pounding, he had to learn to take shallow breaths.

"Please don't kill me! Please!" he pleaded.

Joker grinned, displaying large, shiny, white teeth. The accident that permanently bleached his face also had the same consequence on his teeth. They never dulled and never turned yellow, no matter what he ate. "Oh, not to worry, buttercup—and I call you that because your hair is the colour of butter and people of your nature enjoy being called sweet nicknames—I have no plans to kill you. As for your nightclub" —he shrugged— "that's another story entirely. This five year farce has finally come to an end and it's exhausted me."

Joker released him, Paul's head jerked forward—his hair a tussled mess.

Steve Kyle stood in the background with a gun in hand.

Paul looked around, the bodies of his Operations employee's strewn everywhere. The moment Joker stormed Ops, Steve jumped up as if in anticipation and in waiting, with fore-knowledge, and began shooting everyone in sight with a hidden gun, until they were all dead, except Paul. Paul's team were slumped over consoles or lay dead on the floor, shot to death with sheer precision, their blood spatter covered monitors, dripping down, or pooled around them, like some sort of sadistic horror scene. Steve Kyle was ex-army, so he knew how to handle a weapon.

Kyle scratched his face with the barrel of his gun, relieving an itch.

"Why Steve? Why?" Paul asked.

"Why else? Money, of course; Boss and I have been in this caper since the beginning, and so has most of the staff that work here. You run a tight ship, Paul, but you also have lousy managerial skills. We did everything for you. Oh, you paid okay, but things were getting more and more difficult around here, and frankly, I wanted something more. Joker gave me that opportunity. Now I can afford anything I want, go anywhere I want. Live how I want. Five years of my life wasted here; there was no time for anything else. It was the job and nothing else. I hated it!"

"Why did you say anything? You know you can always talk to me. Steve, you're fired!"

Joker laughed heartily.

Steve Kyle pointed the gun at Paul, but Joker put a hand on the barrel and lowered it. "Oh, Mr. Kyle, you don't get to kill him," Joker said. "I want him alive to see the complete destruction of his life's work. I so do enjoying ruining people's lives, it gives me such a thrill." He laughed again.

Joker told Paul Hudson everything from beginning to the present and how he had been tricked by the best. Mr. Jack Filou did exist, but not in the way he thought; his bank accounts were cleaned out; and his reputation after this would be completely destroyed. The Awakening nightclub would probably be seized by the IRS and most likely Hudson would go to jail.

Joker further explained how the original but fake "Jack Filou" saw a rare opportunity to invest in a potentially profitable business. But then he saw an even more profitable venture and used the nightclub's finances to money launder his other business assets through untraceable numbered accounts and falsify financial data for the club, thanks mostly to Steve Kyle who was an expert in this field, while staging also to continue to allow Paul to get capital from bank loans to support the club, stealing that money, too. Joker, in league with "Filou" on another venture, offered to take over operations of the club, because "Filou" had other businesses to watch and run. But the man still got his cut.

"Unfortunately, like all good things, it had to come to an end eventually; sadly for you, tonight was that night," Joker said. "I wanted to come one last time—for its grand finale. I had fun the other times I visited, and every time I reported back to 'Filou', I sent back inside information thanks to Steve here. He also gave me secret passwords to enter your secure network. We also installed secret cameras all around the club for our personal use." Joker smirked. "And my favourite protege put on an exciting show with one of your other staff members tonight, captured on one of our hidden cameras in the back alley, a butch-build woman. It was quite thrilling. I even made a personal recording. Maybe I'll upload it up to one of those websites that pay for these sorts of things, what do you think?"

"That's voyeurism and a strict violation of someone's privacy!" Paul said. "What people do—even my own staff and in their own time—is their personal business. Doing so on company time, however, is against club rules."

Joker laughed. Even though the club was pretty much defunct—clubbers were still partying on the dance floor as if nothing was occurring; Joker could see such from the tempered glass installed in Ops to oversee everything—Paul Hudson still catered to the notion that he was still in charge. "You're deluded, my friend. The club is finished, your guests don't know it yet. Everything you've worked so hard to obtain is gone, dear Hudson."

"What is that thing?" Paul asked of the bomb, as if resolved to Joker's remark. "It doesn't look like your typical explosive device. I should know, I was a cop for the Bludhaven Police Department for a time."

"Quite right, Paul." Joker went over a put a hand on the device sitting in Paul's specially crafted chair. "It's the hub for sixteen other devices planted within your club, I have the remote to them all. They can be detonated one by one or simultaneously. Once again, I can thank Steve here for the network he set up for the devices to function. Smart cookie, he is," Joker smirked, looking back at Steve Kyle. Steve smiled. He turned back. "And once activated, each device will explode and deliver a lethal dose of my Joker Gas within the ventilation system, exposing everyone in the club to its effects—killing them all. All those who haven't taken the antidote I provided, of course. Why should I care about this club or its patrons now if I've already sucked it dry?"

"You sadistic freak! You don't need to kill all these people. You already have what you got. Just leave!"

"To each his own. And no, I can't leave just yet. I still have something yet to do." Joker extended a finger. "However, unlike my little Harley—I tend to work alone."

Suddenly Joker extended an arm towards Steve as if he was pointing a gun, flicked a wrist, and a small dart shot out from a mini-shooter from under his purple sleeve jacket, embedding itself in his accomplice's neck. Steve slapped his neck, then yanked the dart out. Almost immediately, the dart's contents began to take effect, and Steve Kyle snickered, and then began laughing. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed—until blood began to pour out of his ears, nose, and eyes. By all accounts, it appeared he was laughing so hard he was suffering internal damage. Then Steve Kyle collapsed to the floor, a large smile permanently tattooed to his face. Blood oozed from every open orifice in his face and indeed probably his whole body. The man had laughed himself to death.

Joker picked up the gun Steve Kyle had been holding, didn't hold it normally but cradled it, and said: "What a happy fellow," he chuckled. He turned back to Paul, and now held it properly, pointing it at him. Paul's eyes widened. "You see, my dear Mr. Hudson, my friends are few, and everyone I do associate with that out live their usefulness always end up like Steve here. And I'm pretty sure your head of security, that Boss guy, is already dead, too. He should've reported in by now if Batman and his Bat Clan hasn't gotten to him first?"

As if on cue, Batman and Red Robin burst through the not-sure-secure door of the Operations Centre. Of course, that's how Joker entered, too.

"Hold it, Pale-Face!" Red Robin shouted. "You're under arrest!"

"You're one for calling people names, Junior Bat," Joker said. "Has anyone told you your costume looks ridiculous? You look like a giant walking condom." He laughed, and then held the gun to Paul Hudson's head.

"Fine, okay! Time for a new look! Move on! Jeez! Everyone's a critic!"

Joker then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a remote detonator, waving it in full view. A device Jason had spoken of was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, Red Robin observed. It was then the full extent of the bloody chaos and death that ensued in the Operations Centre hit Red Robin. Bodies were everywhere.

"I have the upper hand, Batman. If you don't want everyone in this club to die, you'll back off!"

"I swear! I knew nothing about what this lunatic was doing!" Paul cried. "You have to believe me, Batman!"

"We do," Red Robin said back. "One of his other hostages told us the whole story."

"Ah, so you rescued dear Jason in time, judging by that remark. What a pity…" Joker continued to hold the gun to Paul's head, but he circled around to shield himself from any attack putting Paul forefront, his back to the monitors. Joker had complete sight of the room. The Operation Centre had been designed for open concept with all aspects seen. Paul's special chair was centre to it all. The security monitors mounted on the back wall with the tempered glass poised opposite it, looking down upon the rest of the club. "By the way, where is Harley?" Joker asked.

"Locked up safely, fending off the effects of your Happy Gas," Red Robin explained.

"Oh, did the antidote wear off? Pity. I thought it would last longer. I must work on that." Joker seemed to chuckle as if thinking of a joke. "But some poor sap really got a good dose of my new Happy Gas, dancing like a complete fool on the dance floor…If only I had a video of his striptease. Poor, poor Dickie Grayson from Gotham City, a member of the so-called "royal-elite"—subjected to my whims. I wonder if anyone else other than me recognized him?"

"You'll pay for what you did, Joker! Mark my words!" Batman extended an arm to Red Robin and he took it as a sign to settle down. They were supposed to be partisan. To them, Dick Grayson was just another citizen of Gotham, not someone the Bat Family should be intimately familiar with. "Stay frosty," Drake muttered to himself.

In charge of the situation, Joker seemed to think that he was safe, and left the protection of Paul as a shield, to make his way to the tempered glass, gun and remote detonator still in hand.

"The boy was a hoot!" Joker said, still going about Dick Grayson, momentarily looking down at the dance floor. The Operation Centre was soundproof to the happenings down below. "He came here to help dear Paul, but look what happened—bad luck or bad timing?" Joker shrugged, then ventured back to the collective.

"I called him this morning and asked Dick to help tonight because I was short staffed," Paul explained. "Little did I know most of my staff were crooks commanded by a megalomanic."

Red Robin put a finger to his lips. "Mr. Hudson, please, don't antagonize the psychopath."

"What do you want, Joker?" Batman demanded, finally speaking up.

"Ah, Bats—you here too? You were so quiet, letting Junior Bird do all the talking. But that's always been you, always so quiet, withdrawn. Probably wondering how you're going take me down, right? You always seem to have a contingency plan for everything—but not this time." Joke waved the remote again. "So, shall we make a deal?"

"What sort of deal? The kind of deal where you won't murder hundreds of innocent people on a whim?"

Joker shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, Batman. So cold. Sometimes I think you have an even icier heart than Victor Freeze." Joker then frowned, walking back behind Hudson once more, facing his foes. Most of the computer monitors behind him were either smashed or shot up, so there was nothing to see. "But yes, pretty much what I was thinking," he further said. "So, what'll it be, Batman? Allow me to leave without incident and you won't cause the deaths of hundreds of people with the press of a little button. And trust me, I'll do it. Or suffer the little children, and all that."

And Joker let out a full-blown belly laugh.

x x x

Jason clenched his fists at his side as he rode the freight elevator up to the main floor. He had been asked to arrange things with Johnny Hogg's body, so it didn't appear as he was part Joker's scheme. Tim had conducted some last minute research on the man and found out Hogg had been battling cancer for over five years and much longer than Joker's scheme had come to fruition. Hogg had been in an out of the hospital twice in remission.

But then the cancer had returned for a third time and just recently and it had gone into his brain. That had been the terminal cancer he had told Batman and Red Robin about.

Tim was good, he had hacked into the man's medical records with little effort and found out bills had mounted with his family with the treatments and medications to a sizeable total of $250,000. The money Joker paid him wiped all those debts away, plus gave his family some money for funeral costs, and for them to live comfortably. Johnny Hogg was a dedicated family man, accounting to his media accounts. Bruce had decided, when Joker's money was seize by the authorities, he would pay off all of Hogg's debts by himself. Joker's money had to returned.

The man was dirty, but there had been a means behind his deeds, and a moral dilemma resided. Now there's was a emotional human element to the man. And this was what Jason was angry about.

 _When did the time come when a man who committed such serious crimes was later heralded a hero? Was it the same when a vigilante render his abilities to become a saviour?_

The "grey-area", they called it. That go-between when a person committed an evil act but it was for a great good—the murder of one person to save hundreds. It was a debate that had been raging for thousands of years and yet there was so much disagreement. Jason's moral conflict on the issue was driving him crazy. He just hoped that Bruce and Tim stopped Joker from murdering hundreds of people at the club for Hogg's "sacrifice" not be in vain.

He felt like punching the wall of the elevator, but then the double doors dinged and opened. Immediately, his ears were subjected to the music of the club. It wasn't as loud as being on the main floor, but it was quite annoying in the back hall. Luckily, Tim had given him a set of earplugs to muffle most of the sound out, and he put them in. He was asked to go help Damian, as Bruce and Tim went to deal with Joker. He agreed. In the meantime, he was given a quick patch for his face and antiseptic for the scar Joker carved into his face…again!

As he headed down the corridor towards the storage room where Damian would be outside standing guard, keeping Harley Quinn prisoner, he saw an unusual sight. Damian was holding the handle of the storage door with both hands and he had one leg up with a foot pressed against the wall, as if trying to something from escaping.

Damian suddenly turned his head and the thirteen old year strangely gave him a smile followed by a sigh. "Todd! Thank god you're here, and I say that with the utmost humility," he said, using a great deal of strength to keep the door closed. Jason saw the door yank open slightly from the inside, but then Damian pulled it shut again. He said Tim had originally fused the lock so Harley couldn't get out, but Harley had broken it. "Harley's gone nuts! Some sort of famine hormones in overdrive or something. She keeps saying she wants me!"

" _Oh, my sweet lover boy…Come to me; I want your little birdie!_ " came Harley's voice from inside.

"See what I mean? Please, help me, Todd! She's scaring me! It must be the Happy Gas, it's still being filtered through the ventilation system and the closest is an accumulated space. It's vastly concentrated in there, I bet. It even affected me when I was in there guarding her at one point, but I won't get into that right now. I also heard some strange noises earlier, she was screaming. I know those kinds of screams and they're normally reserved in the act of sex. But only one way screaming was heard. I fear for Grayson! If you have any Humanity left in you, Todd, I ask" —he yanked the door shut again after Harley tried to pull it open; Damian swore— "Help me!"

Jason placed his hands on his hips non-chalet. "Hey, you're young and energetic; some women are wild ones. I just recently met one here at the club." After he finished here, he planned on searching out Cassidy and taking her to safety. "I bet you can handle Harley later when you've had more experience," he said with a smirk. "But okay, short stack. Let me handle things from here. When I give the word, release the door and get out of the way. Women like Harley need to be dealt with in a certain way when in this savage state. You simply give them what they want."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Damian said, pulling the door shut with all his strength. Then Damian quickly asked what happened to Jason's face and clothes? Jason said he would explain later, but it has to do with Joker.

Lowering his arms, Jason positioned himself. Once Damian released the door, he'd deal with Harley in the only humane way he saw possible. "Okay, sport. One…Two… _Three! Let go!_ "

Damian left go of the door, and then bolted to a safe distance down the corridor and away from the wild Harley Quinn, as the door yanked open from the inside. Jason manoeuvred himself in front of the door to stop her from escaping. She had apparently fell backwards when Damian released the door and landed on the floor. Suddenly, she scampered up to her feet and ran towards Jason like some sadistic, brainwashed mad, crazed animal. But instead of trying to escape, she grabbed Jason by his ripped shirt and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	19. Enter The Red Hood

_**CHAPTER NINETEEN**_

 _ **"Enter The Red Hood"**_

The moment Jason was pulled into the room and the door to the storage closest slammed shut, his eyes were immediately subjected to Harley Quinn wearing merely a very skimpy, tight, pink pair of string panties that left little to the imagination with the rest of her, as did her very tight palindrome costume when worn. She was undressed and out of her costume expect for her head piece and smeared white make-up.

She grabbed him and threw Jason against the wall, he banged his head. The situation reminded him of he and Cassidy in the back alley of the club. But unlike then, this wasn't pleasurable nor didn't he reciprocate. He still didn't know if the Happy Gas had affected Cassidy when they had sex, but he did know the gas was affecting Harley, and his guard immediately went up, and an instinctive emotional reflex like that of a protective parent came forefront.

She caressed his chest through his ripped shirt with both hands and proceeded to press herself against him, and went in to kiss him, but he stopped her, slid out from her pin, and pushed her to the floor. He then removed his shirt and tossed it to her. "Cover yourself, Harley. This isn't happening. I refuse to take advantage of you like this."

On all fours, she wiggled her butt as if giving invitation and permission to commence with some sort of act. Her buxom breasts hung down like two fully filled water balloons, her body covered in sweat as if she was trying to fight off a fever. She turned and looked at him sexily. "Oh c'mon, muscle man, take me, I'm yours! I need a strong man to satisfy my womanly lust." She then shook her head as if in a moment of clarity. "I don't know why this feeling is so strong, it must be the Happy Gas. Jason Todd—I need your help!"

"That's why I'm here, Harley. But not in the capacity you want."

Suddenly, the "fever" she was suffering from returned, and she jumped up and pounced on Jason, knocking him over and to the ground. She pinned him down and before he knew it, she was licking his chest and was kissing him. He pushed her off, and at a quick glance saw Dick still unconscious on the floor in his speedos. Luckily, Harley hadn't seduced him in this state. Tim said just before he left with Bruce after rescuing him that he had laid Dick out with chop to the back of the neck ending a fight between them on the dance floor, then stored him in here for safety. This is safe? Jason thought.

Damian said he had heard noises coming from in the room earlier, noises attributed to only one act, and with Harley undressed the way she was, he had no trouble figuring out what that was. Thank god she didn't take advantage of Dick Grayson; he wouldn't know what happened, but that would be testament to rape. And frankly, Jason didn't want to add that to Harley's already long criminal rap list.

Jason rolled to one knee, faced Harley. "Okay, that's enough, Harley. Joker's new gas is too powerful for a girl like you. You need to stop this. I need you to get dressed now."

Harley stood up, and suddenly two fingers slipped between the two strings on either side of her panties, and when she attempted to seductively and slowly pull them down, that was when Jason jumped up, and delivered a suitable punch to her face with his right hand, enough to knock her out. Harley hit the ground unconscious with a heavy thud.

"Sorry Harley, it was the only way." He then rubbed the knuckles of the hand, she had a hard head. "Like most women I know, you are stubborn." He felt a pang of regret for hitting her, women should not be hit. But then thought: _Screw political correctness! You do you what needs to be done when it comes to your own survival._

He went over and grabbed his shirt and covered her. Now she could sleep off the effects. He needed to shut down the ventilation system to stop the flow of Happy Gas into the club.

"Hey pee-wee, you can come in now; she's down," Jason elevated his voice so Damian could hear him beyond the door.

The door seemed to creek when Damian opened it slowly and peaked his head in. He looked like a scared little kid at the moment and Jason just had to smile. He could understand Damian's fear. He had gone through rigorous training with assassins, spent years fighting against strong warriors, and suffered some of the worse and strict child abuse with his Mother, but when it came to womanly lust, Jason knew the boy had a lot to learn. However, with the Happy Gas, and how it affected Harley, he could understand the boy's trepidation.

When Damian confirmed Harley was down, he seemed to exude more brashness and confidence. He always wanted to appear tough especially in front of others. "Good job, Todd, I always knew you were good for something," he said. Jason gave him an incredulous look. Of course, no thank you. The kid went to Grayson, his mentor. "I don't like seeing him like this…" He gathered Dick's clothes and attempted to dress him, slipping on his trousers. But he merely covered the rest of him with his shirt like a blanket. His shirt was torn in several places and Damian figured that happened when Dick was swinging it around while on the dance floor and he probably originally ripped it off himself.

Jason understood Damian when it came to Dick. The boy looked up to him like a mentor and second father figure. There was even a time when Damian got really angry with Bruce—Jason had been at Wayne Manor at the time—and the teen threatened to go to his "other father", meaning Dick, to get what he wanted—whatever that was, Jason couldn't remember.

But the fact Damian thought of Dick as another fatherly figure showed strong ties between them, probably brought on during the time Bruce had gone missing and Dick had to take up the mantle of Batman. It had only been a short measure, but during that time, something happened that caused such a strong bond to occur.

Jason was jealous of that, but he didn't question it. The boy needed guidance in his life and since Bruce was always closed off when it came to simple fatherly advise—Jason knew this when he was Bruce's ward and Robin—Dick filled that void with Damian.

Damian turned around. "Okay, now what? We should go help Batman, right?"

"No, he and Tim don't need us budding in. But you and I are going to turn this place upside down." Jason smiled with a certain deviousness, then Damian also smirked, seemingly sharing a similar thought. "First, we turn off the Happy Gas—we shut down the HVAC system," he said. "Then I need to gather a few things. It's a good thing I came prepared. But, of course, I _am_ the Red Hood. I always come prepared for every contingency."

x x x

With the banks of monitors behind him and a restrained tied-up Paul Hudson in a chair shielding him from the front, Joker waved the remote detonator to the bomb hub that sat prominently on Hudson's specially crafted chair, as Batman and Red Robin stood static. Their situation was at a standstill with the psychotic villain, they were in the Operations Centre, the brain of _The Awakening_ nightclub, this is where everything went down to run a smooth ship. But right now, Batman had a difficult time wondering if things would turn out for the best for everyone involved.

Joker put a hand on Hudson's shoulder and squeezed it hard, he had put the gun in his pocket as it was not needed, he knew Batman would not attack him, when a single depress of a button would kill hundreds of people. And Batman knew Joker would do it without hesitation.

Paul cringed from the pain.

"Oh, quit wining, Mr. Hudson. This is all your fault. Dreams are for fools. You wanted a nightclub to call your own, but you were willing to sell your soul to the devil to get it. Was it worth it? As a former police officer, you put your ex-profession to shame. You should've conducted a more thorough search on your silent partner." Joker chuckled, then directed his attention to Batman. "Sad to say, if a decision isn't reached, Bats, things are going to get really messy around here. So, what'll be?"

"You don't seriously think we're going to let you go?" Red Robin said.

"That is exactly what you're going to do. But, please, I've had enough of you budding in—let the adults talk. You remind me of that insufferable Nightwing, always jabbering on when he's in the middle of a fight. He never shuts up!"

"I'll take that as a complement." Red Robin caught sight of a small box monitor just to the lower left of Joker, it was the only one that hadn't been smashed by Joker's onslaught when he had stormed Ops. He stayed calm, eying movement from a familiar figure. He put up a finger. "You're right, Joker. A decision has to be made. But please, let me confer with Batman. I'm sure we can make the proper one."

"There's only one decision to be had, Junior Bat." Joker struggled. "But if you must, for the sake of it. Confer."

Red Robin went to Batman, his back turned to the Joker. He knew Batman had his back if Joker tried anything. He spoke quietly, almost whispering. "Looks like things are about to get harry, Batman. On the lower monitor, next to Joker…"

Batman glanced quickly. Saw it. He grunted an acknowledgement. With a single look, both he and Red Robin shared what could only be considered a similar thought. Both knew what needed to be done.

Red Robin turned back, stood next to Batman. But before anything was said, even though the Operations Centre was soundproof, there was a certain vibe, a reverberation, that was consistent when the music was playing, the lights flashing—now it had all stopped, and it was not unnoticed by Joker.

Joker rolled Hudson with him as he walked to the tempered glass and his eyes widened with shock when he saw what was happening below. " _No! Damn him! What the hell is he doing there?_ "

Both Batman and Red Robin causally went over to the tempered glass, they looked down, but they already knew the situation. They had seen Red Hood on the small monitor, taking the steps to the main stage, wearing his mask and brown jacket, and carrying in hand, one of his own specialized handguns. Robin (Damian) was standing poised on the bottom of steps to the stage, as if to protect him.

Red Hood took centre stage.

Joker looked frantically for something on the tempered glass, a small audio button that would allow him to listen openly to the action below. He found it and then slammed it with a hand, switching it on.

With the music gone silent, and the lights brought up—Red Hood had probably threatened the lighting and SFX crews to brighten the nightclub when he took the stage—the band standing shocked instruments in hand, the crowd wondering what was going on, Red Hood grabbed the wireless mike from the leader of the band—a man who tried but failed to duplicate the style of the British rock singer Rod Stewart with his wild hair.

Red Hood pushed him aside. Then seemed to gaze around at the club, glanced up at Ops, as if foretelling Joker was looking through at him, and took to the mike.

"Greetings, fellow clubbers," Red Hood began boisterously, holding his gun up for everyone to see. "I regret to inform you that there has been a change in tonights venue and entertainment. Sadly, festivities have come to an end. I'm sure you've all enjoyed yourself, but tonight is just not your night. I had originally planned a grand speech, a glorious monologue to get all your juices pumping, but instead, let's just get down the brass tax, shall we? As a cursory warning, I inform you to all switch off your cellphones and electronic devices, or you'll regret the decision later." The crowd seemed stunned. It wasn't until Red Hood fired a shot into the air that the crowd appeared to, as if in collective frenzy, quickly grab their electronic devices and one-by-one switched them off, more out of confusion than fear.

Joker put a hand on the glass, completely focused on Red Hood now. "What the hell is that fool up to?" Robin then mounted the stage and with him carried what looked like a grenade that Joker hadn't seen before because he was so focused on his mortal enemy. He handed it Red Hood, exchanging it for the handgun. The pair stood side-by-side on the stage. "Oh god, he wouldn't? Is he insane?"

Red Robin and Batman exchanged a glance and both switched off all their electronic devices, including their masks, but they could still see through the eye holes' normal lens.

"Insanity begets insanity," Red Robin shared. "Apparently, you've been more of an influence on Red Hood than you realize. But we've known that for years."

"Shut it, you little shit!" Joker spat, he had turned to Red Robin to curse him, but then turned back. "Does he think one grenade will stop my plans? And what does he think he's going to do—throw it up here? That's not very smart and it's quite stupid, really. It'll just bounce off the tempered glass and land into the crowd. He's not that foolish!"

"With Red Hood, no one knows what he's really thinking," Red Robin added.

Joker laughed without humour. He pressed another button under the other one on the glass. "Oh, my boy, how low have you fallen to use foolish theatrical tricks," he said, his voice echoing through the club. The crowd looked up to Ops, so did Red Hood, Robin, and everyone on stage. But with the tempered glass Joker's appearance was masked, he was like a disembodied voice—the man behind the iron curtain. "I see right through you. This club is wired to blow at the press of a button and only I have the method in which to stop it. Batman and Red Robin up here can't stop me, what makes you think you can? With one measly grenade?"

The crowd's fears seem to elevate with the words "bomb", "grenade" and "Batman".

Red Hood looked at the grenade, then back up to Ops, and took to the mike again. "You appear to be under a misconception, Joker. I have no intention of killing anyone or causing harm. I promised a certain someone that I would adhere to a cardinal rule set down when I rejoined the common folk."

"Common folk, my ass," Batman grumbled under his breath, and Red Robin smirked.

"Suffice it to say, Joker—and this has been a long time coming—time for this caper of yours to come to an end." To the crowd, Robin then said loudly, hands cupped to his mouth: "Remain calm, everyone, and don't panic, or you may get seriously hurt!" Robin gave Red Hood a thumbs up to proceed.

It was then Red Hood tossed the grenade up into the air and above the crowd. The crowd screamed, fearing for their lives. But Red Hood knew they wouldn't be harmed. One moment of extreme trepidation and it would all be over.

It exploded—and there was a bright flash—but it wasn't atypical for an explosive. Instead, the lights winked out. All electronics shut down, and in Ops, they were suddenly cast in complete darkness. Seconds past, and once the initial blast ended, Batman and Red Robin quickly initialized their devices, and masks, switching to night vision.

"What the hell just happened?" Joker sneered, his voice loud in the darkness. "Fine. Have it your way!" There was the sound of a _click_ as Joker depressed the remote detonator, but nothing happened. He kept pressing it, but the device was dead.

Joker fumbled in the darkness to where he had last remembered where the bomb was on the chair in the middle of Ops. Maybe he could set it off manually?

But Batman grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and slammed him against the tempered glass hard, cracking it. The caped crusader could see just fine. Within the darkness came a smack, and then an _Oof!_ as Batman clubbed the villain across the face with a hard elbow. Joker dropped like a stone to the floor and unconscious.

Red Robin brightened Ops with a mini-palm light. The sonic detonator with its EMP (electromagnetic pulse) had shut down everything not switched off in the club, frying circuits and breakers.

"Interesting idea, I never would've thought about that," he said, about Jason's choice of weapon, "An EMP grenade, brilliant. It not only shut down the remote, but also" —he looked at the main device on Hudson's "command" chair— "it fried this big boy's circuits, and probably did the same to its sixteen kids. Who'd thunk he'd bring one?"

Batman took a final glance at the unconscious Joker, the villain was as intelligent as some of the best minds in the world, but he couldn't take a hit to save his life. And anyone who knew how to throw an elbow, knew which part of the face to hit to knock a person out. In boxing, that was called a TKO (Total Knock Out). He then turned his attention to Paul Hudson and began to untie him; Paul blind in the dark. "Knowing him, it's probably a part of his normal arsenal, along with is shock vest," the caped crusader said in response.

Once Hudson was freed, Batman then took a small miter-torch from his belt with a suction cup and carved a sizeable hole in the glass, prying it away, exposing Ops to open air. He looked through and saw mini-lights were shining from the crowd's cell phones, those who were smart enough to switch them off before the EMP blast, turning the darkness into a twinkling starry night show. Two flashes from Batman's own personal palm light indicated to Red Hood that everything was settled and victory was achieved.

Red Hood acknowledged with his own palm light, then said, "It's all over, folks. You're all safe now," Batman heard Red Hood shout. "I hope you enjoyed the grand finale of the _The Awakening_ nightclub. _Bonne nuit!_ " (Good-bye!)

Batman turned to Paul Hudson. "Now, Mr. Hudson, you're going to tell me everything from beginning to now, who was your silent partner, and how you got involved with Joker, and anything else I wish to question you with."

Paul nodded. "Yes, of course," he said nervously. "But first, I have to make sure my friend is safe. Dick Grayson. He was acting weird on the dance floor the last time I saw him, like he was under some sort of drug."

"Trust me, Mr. Hudson, he's safe," Red Robin said, not waiting to reveal too much. "We'll take you to him when you've answered Batman's questions. And you'll also have to answer the Bludhaven's PD's questions as well." He looked at Batman. "Should I call them back to tell them it's all over? They're on stand-by waiting for your word to go?" Batman had told him such when they were making their way up to the Operations Centre.

Batman nodded. "Also, go talk with Red Hood, and get some further answers on issues pending."

Red Robin didn't need it explained. See if everyone was okay, namely Dick and Harley. "Right," he said, and he left.

Paul Hudson watched Red Robin leave, then he turned back to Batman, and gasped. Batman's palm light was now facing upwards and it basked the caped crusader's face in a shadowy silhouette that mimicked the devil himself with pointed ears. Joker had said Paul had sold his soul to the devil for his nightclub, and he was right, little did he know.

"I should've seen the 'red flags' from the beginning," Paul began. "I was cop for over ten years with the Bludhaven PD, but I was so blinded by my ambition that I couldn't see beyond my own desires. For one, in retrospect, the name of my silent partner—Jack Filou. He said he was French when I spoke to him, the one and only time I did, however he spoke with a perfect American accent. I was a little suspicious at first—Jacques is Jack in French—but he said he liked the name Jack. He told me he was born in America, but adopted by French Nationals. He took their name, but kept the name Jack. He liked Jack, simply Jack."

 _As in a Jack of all trades—criminal trades_ , Batman thought.

" _Filou_ in French means 'trickster', Mr. Hudson," Batman said flatly.

Paul sighed deeply. "I didn't know that. I don't speak French, but I did secretly look him up in police databanks, nothing turned up, so I thought he was on the level. The money" —Paul put a hand to his face ashamed— "he offered so much money for the start-up that I couldn't refuse. He said when he saw my ad asking for capital online for the nightclub, he said it was a worthy investment, and perfect for Bludhaven's ever-growing nightlife community. We'd be partners, but he'd leave all the technicalities to me. He said he trusted me with the details. But he did ask for a detailed plan of everything I wanted, so I wrote one up, with financial numbers, researching everything, and he agreed to it—through emails. I thought, finally, my dream to start up a nightclub would come true! When I saw dollar signs, it seemed that all my police training fell by the wayside."

"We all make mistakes, Mr. Hudson," Batman said plainly. "Now, tell me everything you know about Jacques (Jack) Filou. Leave nothing out, even the smallest detail, no matter now minute—how he spoke to you, emails, etc. Anything could be vitally important. We believe he may have played roles in other crime incidents in Gotham City involving very dangerous criminals. If he is running the show, the information you provide could be paramount to catching him."

Paul Hudson nodded. "You have my word, Batman. I'll tell you everything!"

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	20. Dick Grayson Recovers

_**CHAPTER TWENTY**_

 _ **"Dick Grayson Recovers"**_

Red Hood returned the mike to the band leader, his own palm light brightly lighting the stage, and said, "Thanks." The band leader replied, "No problem, dude. When will the lights turn back on?" Jason explained maybe never and told the entire band they'll probably need to buy new instruments and equipment after the electromagnetic pulse of his grenade fired the circuits to their old ones. The band leader mouth dropped, beyond shocked.

Red Hood went over to Robin and leaned down, asked: "Did you remember to deactivate the emergency lights from the main circuit breakers like I instructed you before we shut down the HVAC system?" Suddenly, the lights clicked in, and Jason was subjected to an incredulous look by Damian. "Right, how could I ever question the all powerful Oz?"

Just before they shut down the HVAC systems, Damian had commandeered one of the uncorrupted Bouncers before he and Jason made their way to the main electrical room—the well informed Bouncer showing them where—and Damian told him to stay in the room, giving him a light. He ordered the Bouncer when the lights went out, to wait one minute before reactivating the emergency systems, the Bouncer knowing how.

The crowd was obviously confused and restless as both heroes looked out amongst them. Damian wondered what was next, but Red Hood seemed preoccupied, as if looking for something or someone within the crowd. Then his head stopped near the bar, and he stepped off the stage, literally running down the stairs, telling Damian to hold the fort. Damian asked where he was going, but never got an answer.

Jason reached the bar and found Cassidy standing near the edge, close to the hallway that lead to back alley. He stood taller than Cassidy, a good foot, and suddenly towered over her. Cassidy looked shocked, then Jason grabbed her and lead her out to the back alley. He took her to the large garbage bins and stood her up against the wall.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "No, I know. You're the Red Hood, that contumacious vigilante from Gotham City."

"Contumacious? Wow, that's a big word. Someone's been reading the dictionary," he said sarcastically.

His jacket was open and she could see he had several wicked, deep scars. She was shocked. "You have a lot of scars, I've seen your work on media sites," she said, and for some odd reason she reached out and touched his chest. Jason allowed a moment for her touch, it was different from what they had shared before in this very alley. She also seemed calmer. Once the gas had been turned off, those not heavily affected must've gone back to normal.

He grabbed her hand. "Yeah, well, I do what has to be done. I'm a bad guy. You shouldn't get too close to me." He held her hand for a few more seconds before she took it back.

"Then why did you bring me here?"

"Because I'm debating on telling you something, but I haven't decided. If I do, your whole life will change."

"I think it already has. After this, I'll be out of a job."

"True. The police are coming" —he could hear sirens in the distance— "and they'll take control of the club as soon as they get here, and interrogate Paul Hudson, the owner, heavily, with others. We've learned that some of the staff were involved in money laundering and illegality at the club associating themselves with the criminal mastermind behind this whole thing. Paul may even get jail time. His involvement in this scheme is still not fully known."

He briefly told her about Joker and the Happy Gas that had been filtered through the ventilation system that made everyone experience feelings of repeated elation, psychologically drawing them back to the nightclub, which made the club so successful for the last five years. He didn't know why he was telling her this, she didn't need to know, but he felt he could trust her.

Her shock continued. But the first thing she thought of and then mentioned of was Jason himself, unknowing that she was speaking to him. She seemed to flush red with embarrassment with a thought she was having. "Oh my god, I think I was under the influence of the gas earlier? I did something horrible to someone, someone nice and caring, and I took advantage of him, right here, in fact." She put his hands to her face abashed. "I need to apologize to Jason."

Jason lifted up his faceplate. "You already did, Cassidy," he said with a smile. Another shock, and gasp. "I wasn't sure how to tell you, but I didn't want to leave without letting you know how much I…" He couldn't say the words. After who he was, and what he just did inside the club, she was probably scared of him. His reputation as the Red Hood proceeded him even in Bludhaven.

Then, unexpectedly, she quickly grabbed the sides of his helmet, leaned in and kissed him passionately on the lips, and he excepted it, embracing her, hugging her, comforting her. Then she broke away. "I'm so sorry, Jason. What happened between us—I'm confused now. I thought—and after you just told me about the gas—that what happened between us was as a result of its influence. But now, I think it only enhanced my feelings for you, if you believe in love at first sight? Jason Todd—Red Hood—I think, I love you."

He smiled. "I have never heard better words, Cassidy." He lifted her up by her underarms, then brought her down, and they kissed again. "I'm so glad the Joker didn't hurt you…" He explained that he had been tortured and that was the reason for the medical patch under his right eye, when she asked. "He carved a J into my face. And that story I told you earlier, the story about how he beat me with a crowbar was true. I'm not sure how to explain to the point you'd understand how I came back from the netherworld, but maybe in time, you'll come to understand."

"So, you know who Batman is?" She waved a hand. "Scratch that, I don't want to know. It's not my business to know. I just know he and the others, and you, do good work to protect Gotham City. Nightwing used to live here, but then he moved back to Gotham. But while he was here, he was a bit chauvinistic. Every time a cameras were running for a newscast or some other media event, he'd be there, with a big smile, and wearing his blue and black skin tights, gawking at the ladies. And they would fond over him. Some people I spoke to, were actually glad he moved out of Bludhaven. But he did do a good job cleaning up the streets when he was here, though."

Jason laughed. "Yeah, I heard about that. He's a little more tame now. Doesn't much like the limelight."

"So, you're friends with him, too? Allies?"

"Yeah, he can be a bit of dick sometimes, sanctimonious and self-righteous, but most of the time he's an okay guy. Maybe I'll introduce you to him?" Right now, Dick was sleeping off a heavy dose of the Happy Gas. Jason just hoped he woke up with none the worse for ware. "On second thought, maybe not. He's a womanizer. He likes to steal girls, or they fall for him hard." He shrugged. "Either way, I don't trust him with any of my female associations."

Cassidy went in close, her head leaning on his chest; closing her eyes. "I can hear your heart beating fast. You're excited. Trust me, has no chance with me. Other women can have him, you're the kind of man I've always liked."

Jason put a gentle hand on her head, then kissed her blonde hair. He felt so happy. "I love you, too, Cassidy."

x x x

It was an hour later when Bludhaven's finest took full control of the nightclub. By now, all associates aligned with Joker's scheme had been taken into custody and everyone else questioned, guests were allowed to leave, Batman assuring police they knew nothing of what had happened other than what happened at the end with Red Hood.

But, of course, Red Hood was no where to be found for questioning, with the threat of being arrested after tossing a potentially dangerous weapon over the crowd that could've caused bodily harm.

Jason Todd, on the other hand, stood next to a women named Cassidy, he told Bruce privately, while Batman and Paul Hudson, after his interrogation by the BPD, waited in a sitting lounge reserved for private guests, where Dick Grayson rested on a couch, still unconscious. He was fully clothed now, Jason had retrieved Dick's suit shirt and brought it back. Dick ripped his uniform shirt when he seemingly tore it off to dance like a maniac on the main floor.

Tim (Red Robin) the wizard that he was with electronics—managed to makeshift and by-pass the main breaker panel since Jason's EMP grenade fried most of the circuits to get most of the lights back on in the club, tying everything into the city's power grid. The EMP grenade only affected the club, nothing else because of its short range. How he did it, even surprised Batman.

Paul put a hand to his face. "The police say I'm not going to be charged after my interrogation, that I was duped, but I still think this is all my fault," he said. "I even caused Dick to get seriously hurt. I mean, look at all those bruises."

Red Robin scratched a cheek with a finger regretfully. "Well, that's my fault," he said. "We had a fight on the dance floor, he wasn't himself, so I had to lay him out. He's a tough guy."

Paul nodded. "Oh, I know…" Paul stood up from the chair he was seated and went to his friend, knelt down on knee next to the couch, and then placed a gentle hand on Dick's hair. "I know this may sound weird, but I have to be honest. We worked together in the Bludhaven police together, Dick's been a good friend even though we haven't spoken to each other much in the past six years. He's always been someone I could always confide in when I had a problem, but…" Paul leaned down and kissed Dick gently on the forehead. "I don't know what I would ever do if something happened to him." He looked at the others in the room: Batman, Red Robin, Jason Todd, and Cassidy. Jason knew Paul was gay, he was told by Dick when they first arrived, and Cassidy knew, too. Paul was open to everyone at the club about it. But Batman and Red Robin did not and there was a collective awe after the kiss. "I think I love Dick Grayson." Paul turned back. "But, he's a straight arrow. Always has been. We live in two different worlds. When we shared that kiss earlier, when Harley Quinn threatened us with a gun, I knew Dick was just protecting me, and everyone else at the club. And they'd never know it. He didn't have to do it, but he's always thinks abut others before himself. That's just the kind of guy he is. But when it happened, it was magic—a fantasy of mine come true." Tears began to roll down his cheeks and his wiped his eyes with a back of a hand. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to get emotional, but the whole thing is just too hard to bare. I've lost everything—my entire dream is shattered."

Cassidy went to Paul's side, placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Paul. At least we're all still alive, the Joker could've killed us. Lucky for Batman and the other heroes of Gotham City to come to our rescue." She gave a brief sideways glance to Jason. It did not go unnoticed by Batman. "There's always hope to rebuild."

"Yup, I think I know a guy that may be interested in investing in a new nightclub once everything is settled here," Jason said, giving Batman a wink, "and he has the collateral and push to back it up."

Teary-eyed, Paul looked up. He was about to say something in response, but then Dick Grayson moaned, and he began to move. His eyes fluttered and then they opened. He groined painfully, suddenly feeling the pain of injuries he had no memory of sustaining. He looked at Paul. "What happened? Where am I?" Paul suddenly hugged Dick thankful that his friend was okay. At first, Dick was shocked, with everyone watching. He noticed Batman, Red Robin, Jason, and "Butch" Cassidy, one of the female bouncers—as others called her within the club because she acted so tough—was in the room with Paul. He cringed painfully, and said, "Ow!"

Paul pulled back. "Sorry, I forgot about your injuries. How do you feel?"

"Sore, but I'll recover," Dick said, he twisted to sit up, Paul helped him. "All I can remember is someone beating the crap out of me on the dance floor, but it's mostly a blur." Then he perked up. "Joker! Where's Joker and Harley?"

"They're in custody," Batman explained, "and the Bludhaven police department have already removed them from the club with a one-way ticket to Arkham Asylum. Also, SWAT and the bomb squad have retrieved and disposed of all the explosive devices Joker planted, including canisters of Happy Gas installed in the ventilation systems." Dick asked for further details, and Batman explained things, but by way of an average citizen, not as a member of the Bat Family, leaving out essential details that he would reveal later, including that regarding corruption, money laundering—that Paul didn't need to know—and information about a certain Jacques (Jack) Filou, Paul Hudson's original silent partner.

 ** _To Be Continued…_**


	21. Anonymous Source

_**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**_

 _ **"Anonymous Source"**_

Over the next hour, away from the action of everything else, Dick, Jason, Red Robin and Batman, talked privately in the back alley where they couldn't be heard. Jason smashed the secret camera "Boss" Hogg had installed before they got started, explaining to the others how Hogg and Joker had installed secret cameras through the club to spy on people apart from the main CCTV. The camera didn't work anymore, but smashing it made Jason feel good.

They collectively pooled all their information and now everyone had the big picture of what actually happened within the nightclub, and they all came to the same conclusion—that this Jacques (Jack) Filou had to be stopped. Now that they had a working name, they could potentially connect him to the Freeze and Scarecrow capers in recent weeks. But a name was just a name. Joker's admission that he had transferred all the money stolen from the club into supposedly untraceable numbered accounts, information revealed by Jason, was a done deal. It was unretrievable. Tim had the knowhow to possibly use that data to get some sort of trace, however, that would've been only possible if Jason's EMP grenade hadn't wiped out every hard dive at the club.

"Oops!" Jason shrugged after Tim revealed that. "I had no idea. Maybe Joker can shed more light on the guy?"

"We're going to have to re-interrogate Freeze, Crane, and Joker at Arkham Asylum," Red Robin said, "and get the low down on Jacques (Jack) Filou; there has to be some information on this guy, no one is a complete Ghost." The term "Ghost" was used by the Bat Family for someone without an identity until one could be affirmed. "Let's just call him The Mastermind, at this point. I need at least a working term to call this guy for the dossier write-up."

"Sounds good," Dick confirmed. Dick elbowed Jason. "So, you and Clare Cassidy, eh? I remember hearing some of the Floor Servers call her 'Butch', as in Butch Cassidy. Does that make you the Sundance Kid?" He laughed.

"After what I saw on the dance floor, I wouldn't go mocking others, Dick," Jason said with a smirk. "You know how some people think they can dance? Well, you put even the worse of them to shame."

Dick's jaw dropped. "Hey, Barbara thinks I'm a great dancer. Granted, I'm good at the Waltz and the Tango. Not so much on free-style. I just hope no one recognized me out there."

Jason took out his cell phone. "One click, Dick, one click, and your painful dancing is all over the net. I managed to get a small video of it. It's quite funny, you look like a fish out of water."

"Mind sending me that, Jason?" Tim asked, with a crooked smile. "I'd love to watch it.

"No!" Dick protested.

"I was thinking of making it into a gif and posting it on my Instagram account," Jason said with a laugh.

Dick wigged a finger. "Oh, _Thunder Thighs_ …We need to talk for a moment." He drew Jason away from the others, and said they'll be right back; secret talk. Dick hauled Jason to the furthest part of the alley, literally grabbing his rolled up shirt sleeve. Jason had changed out of his Red Hood costume before the police came and put everything back in the trunk of Dick's Sedan, and then retrieved his suit shirt in his locker since his uniform shirt had been torn. Now it felt like Dick's grip was ripping his only good shirt.

He swatted Dick's hand away when they were alone and out of earshot now.

"Hey Jay, we're both adults here, so I believe we can come to a mutual understanding on things."

"What things?"

Dick put an arm around Jason's shoulders, sounding sly. "You do realize that when you erase a computer datafile it doesn't necessarily get erased unless its overridden by something else, right? Say, a CCTV video file?"

Jason's eyes widened, he gasped. He knew exactly what Dick referred to immediately. "You don't mean…"

"Yup, I was on the Batcomputer a week back, data pushing—Tim's not the only tech-savvy one; although he's better at it than I am—and a message popped up the screen from the Batcomputer asking if I would like to repair a fragmented data stream? Intrigued, I inquired about. It said you deleted a video file, but it was still in retrieval, you hadn't completed full deletion. So, I retrieved it and reinitialized it."

Jason growled under his breath. "Damn you, Dick! What happened was between Roy and me, that's none of your business!" he said it threatening-like but with also a quiet enough tone for only the two of them could hear.

"It was quite interesting," he smirked. "You get rid of that video in your phone and I'll forget about the CCTV footage."

"That's blackmail," he said angrily.

"Yup, plain and simple," Dick replied. "Give me your phone." Jason handed it over and Dick viewed the video. Jason was right, it was embarrassing; it like he was having a seizure. He mentioned if Barbara ever saw this it would be like her finding him in that striptease club all over again, only worse. She would never go dancing with him again. He had to get rid of it. He deleted it. "Done, and done," he concluded. "My lips are sealed about you and Roy."

"He came onto me," Jason defended. "He kissed me!"

"And Paul kissed me. Who cares!"

"Then why were you so adamant about that video? It wasn't so bad. You've been videoed and photographed in even worse compromising positions. You've even been on Gotham City TV with your costume nearly ripped to sheds after tangling with a villain, and that didn't bother you, even when half your naked butt was showing." Then Jason scowled, as if coming to a sudden realization. "You tricked me! You never saw the video."

Dick smirked. "Oh, but isn't it funny how you just told me openly about you and Roy as if you wanted to get it off your chest? So, you kissed Roy Harper—who cares. Like I say, we're adults. Our lives are our own. We're not screwed up, we just like to enjoy life. You never know what could open up other possibilities."

Jason growled. "You lying turd—you did see the video? Those were Roy's exact words!"

" _Ah…_ guys? I don't know what you talking about clandestine-like, but it looks like we have a problem here," Red Robin said, and both Dick and Jason looked at him. The teen was using his "wrist watch" device to project what he said was a media report. "G-TMZ already has the story on the nightclub. That was fast! And it doesn't sound good…they're literally connecting your friend Paul with the Joker, saying he was his partner in this whole scheme. There's been a leak, and they claim to have inside information from an anonymous source. But there's no way any of the clubbers could've known what was really going on." Red Robin looked up from the device. "A staff member? Maybe a cop?"

Everyone gathered around the device, Red Robin turned up the sound.

The first part of the news report was missed, but Red Robin reviewed the feed for the others, he had that ability. It wasn't the best journalism, G-TMZ was a tabloid site, but it had millions of followers. Even outside of Gotham.

They listened: The G-TMZ reporter announced his name, then: " _Breaking News from G-TMZ! Shocking News! Revelations by an anonymous source has revealed claims that former Officer Paul Hudson of the Bludhaven Police Department was in league with the super criminal known as the Joker, most renown to reside in Gotham City, staging a super-secret sinister plot to steal millions from the fare-minded citizens of Bludhaven, our sister-city across the river—the story broke only minutes ago. The owner, Paul Hudson, along with the Joker, concocted a devious plan of mischief and mayhem, putting thousands of Bludhaveners in jeopardy for what appeared to be a five year time span, using a special mind control gas to bring people back to his nightclub, called The Awakening, with all appearances of it being a ligament night and dance club, repeatedly brainwashing patrons…_ "

Dick swore. "How the hell did this get out?" Tim hushed him. Dick didn't take offence.

The reporter continued: " _Bludhaven police are currently at the club with SWAT and the bomb squad, and they've taken into custody several staff who work at the club, who are suspected of being associated with the plot. Police have arrested both the Joker and his lady femme fatale, Harley Quinn, with the aid of Batman and others. It is unknown at this time the whereabouts of Paul Hudson, whom the Bludhaven Police Department are now condemning and branding a criminal. You heard it here first, folks. This is—_ "

But before the journalist could say his name again to end the flash segment, Dick Grayson's cell phone rang, startling him. He had been so focused on the segment that his ring tone sounded like it was the loudest thing in the world. He had been told he had switched off his phone after he told off Bruce as he was on his way to the club with Tim and Damian, but he was under the influence of the Happy Gas, so it wasn't his fault. It was a good thing, too, otherwise it would've been fired along with every other electronic device that had been left on when Jason—the Red Hood—threw the EMP grenade into the crowd that foiled Joker's plot to blow up the nightclub. He had switched it on soon after he awoke in the lounge.

He answered it, but before he could get a word out, an anxious voice said: "Is this Mr. Dick Grayson?" Dick quickly answered "Yes". "This is Sgt. Brankon Loe from the Bludhaven Police Department, here at the nightclub. Your phone number was given to me. You need to come quickly, sir. Mr. Hudson has barricaded himself inside one of the private guest lounges. He just attacked another officer and stole his gun! And he's threatening to kill himself."

x x x

Dick asked where the Sergeant was located and the officer told him.

With the others in tow, Dick ran faster than he ever thought he had run before, straight to the private guest lounge. When he arrived, he found several police officers had surrounded the area in the hallway, guns drawn. One officer stopped him, saying that it was a danger zone and he had to turn back. But as soon as Dick announced himself, Sgt. Brankon Loe immediately went to him.

"Mr. Grayson, he's asked for you, and only you," the officer said, observing Batman and the others. Loe's eyes cast away from Batman the moment he saw him, the caped crusader looked menacing. The Bludhaven police were obviously not used to seeing him.

Dick passed through the armed officers and stood at the lounge door which was locked. The officer gave Dick the lowdown on everything that had transpired: "He was fine up until a few minutes ago, then Mr. Hudson went berserk. He attacked an officer, grabbed his gun, and then locked himself inside here. He refuses to let anyone in. He demanded that he speak to you. Said you were the only person who would understand."

"It probably as something to do with the breaking news flash segment that just aired on G-TMZ," Jason remarked. "They accuse Paul in being in cahoots with Joker from day one."

"When did this air?" Sgt. Loe asked.

"Just a few minutes ago, and just before you called."

Dick put a hand to his face hoping that was not the case, but he feared the worse, and knowing how connected Paul was, it was a sure bet he had watched that segment in real time. And knowing how emotional his friend was right now with everything that had happened, he needed to get to Paul fast.

He rapped on the lounge door, said: "Paul, he's me—Dick. Can I come in?"

There was a pause, then the door clicked. "Only you, or I'll start shooting!" Paul said loudly. Dick turned the handle slowly, opened the door the same. It was then he saw Paul Hudson had an arm fully extended with the stolen officer's gun pointed directly at him. "Shut the door, now! And lock it. No one else gets in!" Dick followed his orders, then he put his hands up. "Dick, I'm ruined! G-TMZ accuses me of being Joker's willing partner."

"I know," Dick said calmly, as he focused on Paul, less on the gun. It wasn't the first time he had had a gun or a greater weapon pointed at his face. "Paul, please put the gun down. Let's talk about this, okay?"

Paul shook his head quickly. "No, it's all over. I'm finished. The club, my dream—is gone! That bastard not only took it away from me, but my entire life, too! G-TMZ says the BPD are also branding me a criminal. Is that really true?"

"You know that's not true, they would never say that. The police are always neutral."

"Not this time, my phone has been ringing off the hook, texts flooding in, and every message forum I go to—they're all saying the same thing…that I'm a criminal. My life is over, Dick!" Dick saw Paul's phone in pieces on the floor next to the wall. He had obviously thrown it in anger and frustration and it had smashed on impact.

Then Paul pointed the gun to his head.

"No, it's not!" Dick said strongly, gasping, his hands shaking slightly, reacting to Paul's unstable response. "You—We—can get through this. You just have to tell your side of the story."

"It's too late for that, Dick. You know the world today, you're guilty until proven innocent on social media. And even when your day in court comes and you're exonerated, it's nothing but a small blurb in the news, less than a segment for maybe thirty-seconds, and only shown once. What people remember most is the negative press. There is no such thing as partisan journalism anymore, it's either Leftwing or Rightwing. And it's all hate news."

Dick thought quickly. He needed to calm his friend down before he did something rash. And by the sound of the unstable tone of his friend, he needed to do something fast. "We'll fix it, we'll demand a retraction from G-TMZ. It's nothing but tabloid journalism anyway, they've gotten stories wrong before. Hundreds of sites cite wrong news. You can't believe G-TMZ because everyone here knows the truth. And I'll be right up front and centre to tell it. I'll demand G-TMZ retract their story and I'll go after every other outlet who tries to run with their lies and threats major legal action. You know I can. Bruce Wayne and I go way back, remember?"

Paul's hand was shaking, he was a quiet, thinking. But Dick was telling the truth and he knew he would have Bruce to back him up fully, along with all his money and a topnotch legal team. Dick lowered his arms. "I know you won't shoot me, Paul. We've been friends for too long. I know you. And you trusted me to be the first when you came out. If you can't trust me now, then shoot me. But if you do trust me, please, lower the gun, we'll talk—just the two of us!"

Paul's eyes squinted, and suddenly tears fell down his cheeks. He lowered the gun. "I'm in big trouble, aren't I? I assaulted a police officer and stole his gun," he said, as Dick approached him. "I'm going to jail, aren't I?" Without warning, Dick reached out and hugged Paul like a bear, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tight, similar to what Paul did to Dick in the rear parking lot when he and Jason first arrived.

Paul dropped the gun and then began to cry on Dick's shoulder.

"We'll get through this together buddy," Dick said. "I'll talk with the police and straighten things out."

"I love you, Dick Grayson."

"I know, I heard you. I must've just been coming back to consciousness then, but I heard you." Dick released the hug, looked into Paul's teary eyes. "If I were gay, you'd be my first choice." He smiled.

Paul smiled, then laughed, and sniffled. "I know procedure, Dick. I'm going to need to be handcuffed," he said.

Dick nodded, then picked up the gun, pocked it, and then went to the door. He unlocked it, and opened it slowly, sticking his head out. The cops still branded their guns, ready for anything. "This may be a silly question, fellas, but does anyone have a pair of handcuffs?" Suddenly, about six officers sported cuffs in hand. Dick grabbed one set. "Um, thanks—one's enough. Be right back."

Dick brought Paul out in handcuffs, but unlike the traditional cuffing behind the back, Paul's hands were in front. It was a gesture that Dick didn't consider Paul a criminal. Paul said he would go quietly and face judgement. He was taken away by Sgt. Brankon Loe and Dick specifically asked him to be gentle.

After everything was all said and done, and all guests had departed, and both the bomb squad and SWAT left, dawn began to creep over the horizon. Batman and company left the nightclub in the Bat Plane which was parked on the roof of a nearby low building while Dick and Jason left in his Sedan.

With two-way communication enabled, Dick and Jason were able to converse with Batman and others via a special satellite link. On the dash monitor in Dick's Sedan, he saw all three in the Bat Plane, while they saw him and Jason. "Okay, I've had enough of this," Dick said outright. "Timmy, I want you to find this character The Mastermind, as you call him. I don't know how many stones you have to overturn to do it, but just find the bastard!"

"Already on it, Dick," Drake said. "I can't be positive, but I believe he was the anonymous source behind the G-TMZ flash breaking news segment. There were too many hot details given. Jason told us that Joker spoke to the man earlier, and he kept in touch with Joker over the last five years. He must also have other sources of information to give that much to G-TMZ. Revenge, I think?" Everyone agreed with him. Tim said he managed to swipe Joker's cell phone before the police nabbed him in the Operations Centre. "I'm doing a trace on the number as we speak" —Tim was on his laptop— "but the point of origin keeps bouncing around every second like he has some sort of sophisticated anti-tracking system. Knowing this deranged psychopath, he definitely doesn't want to get caught. I find it fascinating that this guy has managed to earn this much influence in the criminal underworld and collect enough capital to pull off schemes of this nature and we had not idea about him until a few weeks ago."

"Just do your best, Tim. That's all I ask."

"Sure thing, I won't let you down. We all want this bastard caught!"

 _ **To Be Continued…**_


	22. Mastermind

_**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**_

 _ **"Mastermind"**_

He sat behind a standard wooden desk in a darkened room. The room was small, but it was all he needed. All the equipment was compact and portable. He figured that Batman and his clan would attempt to track him down, but they would be unsuccessful—his self-developed network with a million different deflectors would redirect them every which way, to millions of points around the world, pinging other servers a thousands times a second.

The glow of his laptop screen illuminating him in green, reflecting partly off his glasses giving off a sinister feel. He had aided Victor Fries, Jonathan Crane, and lastly The Joker, financing each of their criminal enterprises, with capital he had stolen from multiple sources and invested in businesses all around the world which net him hundreds of millions in profit, more than enough to finance each one of his criminal enterprises, and each had added to his own secret agenda. Apart but collective, each Rogue, as they were referred to in the press, were unknowingly a pawn in his grand scheme. The left didn't know what the right hand was doing. Everything had gone according to his design.

The Awakening nightclub had been his most lucrative scheme to date.

The G-TMZ report with information he had provided as its anonymous source was a tease. He liked games, and had left clues with each caper for the caped crusader to decipher, some more apparent that others. He had several things going. Now that the nightclub caper was at an end, he could go on and focus his attention to other grander schemes, one of which, was his more ambitious project, and one he had invested most of his time in over the years.

If a genius was a vastly intelligent person, then he was a man above them all, with an IQ far above even science could ever hope to create within the brain of mankind. If God created the world in six days with pseudo-genius, then he would create his own world in his own image and rock Gotham City to its core.

There was no revenge, so sorrowful painful psychological scarring from a tragic event in his past for him to engage in such actions. He was a genius and he wanted to show the world his god-like power.

He sent off an email for a completely unrelated issue.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a _ding!_

It came from a hanging bell overtop of a door. He closed his computer, switched on the lights, and then exited the room, which wasn't any bigger than a storage closest. It was all he needed. It was true what was said about kids in their basement having hacking skills. All they need was their a computer, the proper equipment, the knowhow, connections, and resources. And it was the same with him. He had it all.

His smiled, immediately changing his persona. A man with his little boy had strolled into his little shop, a shop of wonder and intrigue, with odd and rare items—catering to the highly intelligent and genius-like minded.

"Greetings, and welcome to _Mastermind Toys_ ," he said cordially. "I am its proprietor. How may I help you?"

 _ **END...**_


End file.
